


Sizzle! Burn! Steam!

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anal, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foursomes, Gay Sex, Kinks, M/M, Multi, Oral, Other, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Slash, Smut, Threesomes, straight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collection of unrelated oneshots that are going to sizzle! All of them contain heavy smut, and various pairings, from Dragon Age Origins, Dragon Age II and Awakenings. And soon, I will  be adding pairings from Inquisition too. M/F, M/M, threesomes, more kinks that you can count in each chapter.<br/>Requests accpeted. Rather, requests encouraged. Oh, who am I kidding, please wake my muse up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fenris and Hawke.

**Author's Note:**

> A series of new one-shots that are going to STEAM. It seems all of you want me writing more smut... and since I have been labeled the Smut Queen, I have to live up to my title.
> 
> And the Maker be my witness, if you all start asking me for sweet fluffy warm fuzzies next, I will have a nervous breakdown.
> 
> For cuddlekitten618 who is everything BUT a cuddle kitten (the idea for this first chapter belongs to him/her)
> 
>  
> 
> Pairing: F!Hawke (mage) and Fenris
> 
> Timeline: Act III.

**A series of new one-shots that are going to STEAM. It seems all of you want me writing more smut... and since I have been labeled the Smut Queen, I have to live up to my title.**

**And the Maker be my witness, if you all start asking me for sweet fluffy warm fuzzies next, I will have a nervous breakdown.**

**For cuddlekitten618 who is everything BUT a cuddle kitten (the idea for this first chapter belongs to him/her)**

**Pairing: F!Hawke (mage) and Fenris**

**Timeline: Act III.**

 

Fenris walked into Hawke’s mansion, sparing a nod to Bodahn  and Sandal. He had been away from the city for days, on a mercenary job Varric had arranged for him and he longed to see her again. Ever since their reconciliation, a few months ago, they had spent more and more time together, until Fenris had found her presence as necessary to him as breathing. These few days away from her had been excruciating, the nights had been endless; his body had in a just a space of months learned not to be content unless near hers.

He raised an eyebrow to Bodahn who pointed him to the direction of the garden.

“It is good to have you back, messere,” the dwarf said as Fenris was already making his way to the small enclosed garden at the back of the house. “My Lady Hawke has not been herself while you were away.”

Fenris smiled smugly to himself but did not turn back. So, she had missed him too, hadn’t she? Good to know. She was usually a bit remote and standoffish after he had gone away, punishing him by keeping him at a distance for a few days.

He opened the door and quietly stepped into the garden. The thick rose bushes hid him from her sight as he silently made his way to the bench at the back where she liked to lounge when the sun was shining like today.

He paused, still unseen, and took his fill of her. Maker, she was gorgeous, in her short velvet robe and her little dress, her incredibly long legs stretched out in front of her on the low bench, her glorious black hair falling down her back. She had a book in her hands and a glass of wine in the other, sipping casually from time to time. Her mabari, Puppy, was lounging at her feet, snoring quietly.

She put the book down and sighed, and Puppy raised his face to her and left a little whine.

“Nothing wrong, boy, I just wonder where he can be...” Hake reassured her pet, who left another high pitched whine.

“You miss him too, don’t you, Puppy?” she run her fingers through the dogs pelt, scratching his ears. “I’m glad. You never seemed to like any other man I was ever with.”

The hound turned to him then and left a happy little bark. Obviously the hound could smell him. But Hawke failed to realize the bark was a greeting and shooed the dog away.

“OK, okay, you can go play...” she sighed and settled back on the bench, her book in her hands.

Fenris brought his finger to his lips as the mabari neared him and pointed to the door. The dog let a small bark and moved past him, obviously offended by the lack of attention. Fenris watched in amusement as the huge dog stood on his hind legs and used his mouth to turn the door handle and disappear into the house. Smarter than most humans, that dog.

He turned back to her, and his eyes widened as he took in what she was doing. Her hand had slipped under the hem of her short dress and was obviously lost between her legs. Her head had dropped back, her eyes were closed in pleasure and her mouth slightly open as that wicked hand moved more and more quickly.

He bit his lip to stop himself from moaning when her body arched, his name leaving her mouth in a breathless little gasp as she pleasured herself. Blood rushed to his groin in a hot surge leaving him lightheaded with desire. He watched, enthralled, as she parted her legs even more, her fingers moving faster and faster over her nub, her little cries and moans making his shaft achingly hard within seconds. Releasing the fastenings on his suddenly painfully tight breaches, he slipped his fingers inside and palmed his shaft, stroking himself as he watched her. The sight of her chanting his name as she came was so erotic that he nearly finished in his breeches. A chocked moan escaped him and he clasped his hand over his mouth to prevent her from hearing him as he continued palming himself, debating whether he should make his presence known.

 He then caught a small, knowing smile flicker on her lips and his eyes widened. The little minx knew he was there, and this whole show had been for his benefit. He felt a growl start to vibrate in his chest, and his lips quirked up.

Two could play this game.

She sighed and got up, and in her carelessness, knocked the glass of wine over, soaking the pages of the book. Smiling to herself _, clumsy, clumsy me,_ she thought, she went down on her knees and pretended to try to clean the book, giving Fenris an unobstructed view of her backside.

Her dress had risen over her luscious rear, and he could see her folds, glistening with her juices, the pink flesh ripe and ready for him, her opening already dripping wet.. He rushed to her, walking in long determined strides and knelt down beside her, roughly grasping her thighs.

“Missed me, I see..” he drawled before his mouth descended on her hot and slick core, lapping up the evidence of her orgasm, making her shriek in fake surprise.

“Oh, please, Hawke, you knew I was there all along.” He mumbled and slipped his thumb into the forbidden opening of her ass, making her whimper.

“Fenris...” she managed to mumble before he closed his lips around her nub and suckled her, giving her another orgasm that made her writhe and shudder on the stone floor. He gripped her hips, opening her up more completely and changing the angle so he had an unrestrained view of her sex. He run his tongue from her nub to the crack of her ass, and then slipped it inside her sheath, sucking up her juices, making her groan and moan his name. He smiled wickedly at the increasing tempo of her cries; knowing that anyone could walk into in the courtyard and catch them, that the neighbors could be watching them from the windows of the mansions next to hers only fanned his desire to make her scream.

He slipped two fingers roughly inside her clenching sheath. She shrieked again, screaming his name, and her contractions increased. She was coming repeatedly now, one wave rolling over the other, heat engulfing her whole body, her mind going blank to anything but the pleasure he was giving her.

“Yessss..” she hissed as he added the thumb of his other hand in her ass and she shot him a lustful, heavy-lidded look. She loved having him there. The first time he had taken her sweet ass had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life.

“Not yet, Hawke,” he muttered. “I want this sweet hole first.” And he slammed inside her to the hilt, drawing a scream from her. She arched into him, trying to take him even deeper. He obliged with a groan, too consumed by lust to be wary of hurting her, until he was as deep inside her as he could go, bumping against her cervix. Her tight, hot feminine walls were stretched around him and he spared a look to watch his manhood nearly disappear inside her. A groan was wretched out of his throat at the sight, his shaft engulfed by her clenching heat, her pink flesh clutching him as she rolled her hips trying to make him move.

Hawke looked back to him again and the hazy, lustful look on her flushed face was enough to push every thought of being tender and careful with her out of his mind. Fenris started pounding into her in a furious, blinding rhythm, although he knew he was too large for her and she would end up sore. She didn’t seem to mind, quite the opposite if her whispered,  panting pleas for him to  go harder and faster were any indication. She started whimpering as she tensed and peaked again, soaking him with her cream. His thumbs were still in the tightness of her ass, and he twisted them around, making her scream and hiss in combined bliss and pain.

Fenris felt his impending orgasm in the tightening of his balls and the tingling of every  nerve  along his spine. He pulled out and chuckled wildly at her outraged protest, before he withdrew his fingers and settled  the tip of his cock at the tiny opening of her ass. She went totally still underneath him, only a deep, agonized moan escaping her as he slowly, leisurely pushed his entire length inch by inch into her incredibly tight nether passage. She let out a shaky breath when he was fully embedded, and looked back to him with an expression that was both blissful and tormented, as pleasure and pain mixed into a heady mix the set her on fire for him.

“Fuck me,” she whispered and watched as the pupils in his mossy green eyes expanded even more, and his nostrils flared. “Hard.”

He complied, groaning like a wild animal as he pistoned inside her, his one hand wrapping around her to rest on her nub. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and their moans and gasps filled the air. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself, trying to slow down to make the exquisite feeling last, but then she begged him to please not stop, to please take her harder and he lost it. As his seed exploded from him in a mind-shattering orgasm, he pinched her nub, and she bellowed his name and came once again, her knees buckling. She would have collapsed on the floor if his hands hadn’t been steadying her. He pulled out of her, still trying to regain his breath, and run a tender hand down her back, trying to help her down from her high.

Already he wanted her again, the sight of  her reddened opening leaking his seed making him want to slam inside her and never stop. They should probably have a bath together first though. And maybe retire to her bedroom. Maker knew, he had missed her so much, she would probably have a hard time walking straight by the time he was done with her.

She turned in his arms and grasped his face in her hands, bringing his mouth to hers in a hot, blistering kiss, that was not without love and tenderness too.

“I missed you, my wolf,” she whispered as he picked her up, and settled her on his lap, sitting on the bench. He straightened her clothes around her and let her cuddle on his chest, contentment spreading inside him.

“I will give you no more reasons for missing me, Hawke,” he promised. “I am not taking any more jobs, none away from you at least.”

She pulled back and looked at him with a surprised look. These jobs had been like a statement of independence for Fenris. He needed them to feel he was still his own man, not the kept elven lover of the Champion.

“I thought the work was important for you.”

“None more than you,” he kissed her. “None more than my Hawke.”

She smiled. He smiled back and kissed her again.

“I love you, you know,” she whispered against his mouth.

His lips quirked up.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are supposed to say it back to me,” she pouted.

“I never do what I am supposed to. And if you haven’t noticed I love you too, you deserve what I will do to you next.”

She gave him a sultry, mischievous smile.

“Promises, promises...”

He just groaned and picking her up, carried her off to her bedroom.

 


	2. Carven and Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela teases Carver a bit too much and gets the surprise of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Carver /Isabela  
> Timeline: Act I

Carver took a gulp of his ale and snorted as his big brother skillfully dodged another one of Isabela’s advances. The pirate had been trying to lure Garrett to her bed ever since she had met him, but he didn’t seem interested. Carver snorted again. Big, burly, manly Garrett Hawke had a thing for elves it seemed. The male variety, he wryly observed as Hawke again started chatting up that damned white-haired broody elf.

Isabela plopped down on the seat next to him with a scowl on her face.

“So, Pup,” she addressed Carver, the condescending nickname and tone making him bristle, “has he always been like that? More interested in men, I mean? Or does he swing both ways?”

Carver scowled even more and shot his brother an irritated look. Why was it that he always drew the attention of everyone around him, both male and female? He wasn’t that much more handsome, or taller, or even more well built. Sure, he had an easy smile and a carefree, happy-go-lucky attitude, but that didn’t mean anything. _I can be funny and carefree too_ , Carver thought. _Or I could if I was ever out of his shadow_!

“I don’t keep track of my brother’s sex life,” he grumbled, then shot a sideways glance to Isabela. “Ask him yourself.”

The pirate brought her hands under her chin and looked at Hawke’s direction with a dreamy look on her face, the posture making her bountiful blossom even more pronounced. Carver had to fight not to drool. Why didn’t she ever look at him like that? And why was Garrett ‘Hawke’ while he was just Carver, or Junior, or Pup? He hated being called that!

“Why the sour face, Pup?” she asked him with a small, teasing smile. “Getting jealous of big brother again? You know, green really isn’t your colour.”

Carver banged his cup on the table. “I am NOT jealous of him! And stop calling me Pup! I have a name you know!”

“Oh, the Pup shows his fangs...” Isabela drawled secretly intrigued to see such a rush of temper form the younger Hawke. He was yummy too, she noticed, with that nicely chiseled, youthful face, and those impressive biceps under his loose tunic. She sent him a sultry smile, inwardly happy he was so easily riled. She was feeling frustrated and disappointed, her feminine confidence slightly dented by Hawke’s continuous rejection. Getting a rise out of his brother was a perfect way to let off some steam. Or maybe she would take him for a little ride, she thought, just to rub his brother’s nose in.  She blew him a kiss and enjoyed the sight of the young warrior bunching his muscles and grinding his teeth, trying to reign his temper in.

“What, no answer, Pup?” Isabela drawled again.

“I. AM .NOT. A . PUP.” Carver roared, before grasping her arm, pulling her to him and giving her a scorching kiss that made her see stars. The whole patronage of the Hanged Man started whistling and catcalling, as she was kissed breathless and then left there, stunned, her eyes huge, and her fingers rubbing over her bruised lips, looking at the young man as he got up and left as if the archdemon was after him.

Wow. What was that? she thought. Her eyes fell on Hawke and he smirked and then laughed, before coming near and leaning conversationally over her. Fenris, who had been talking to Hawke, frowned and wondered if that little show had been enough to change Hawke’s mind about Isabela’s offer. He watched as Hawke whispered something in her ear and the pirate’s eyes shot wide. Hawke held his hands a good distance away from each other, and winked to Isabela. She shot the door a  lustful look.

Fenris blushed. Oh. He was telling her about his brother’s ...assets. Oh, he did not need that kind of information, thank you very much. He then frowned again, remembering the distance between Hawke’s hands. That couldn’t be true, anyway. He was exaggerating Carver’s said ...assets, to be sure. He shuddered and took another drink.

* * *

The next evening, Carver was sitting near Varric and Hawke as they were playing diamondback, when a waitress dropped off a note for him. He unfolded it with a bored look on his face, which was immediately replaced by a blush. He looked around, but nobody was paying him much attention. _Typical_ , he thought with a small twinge of annoyance, before getting casually up and telling his brother he was going home.

Garrett barely spared a look his way and Carver made his way to the door, before secretly slipping down the hall from Varric suite to the room at the back. He knocked, feeling nervous and excited and Isabela opened, wearing nothing more than her smallclothes.

“Well, hello there, Pup,” she drawled, a self-satisfied smile lighting up her face at the way his jaw dropped.

His eyes shot up to her face from the expanse of nude skin he had been ogling and then narrowed.

“If you have called me here to make fun of me again, Isabela...” he started, but was interrupted by the pirate that grabbed him by the collar and dragged him in.

“Oh, shut up, Carver, will you?” she murmured against his mouth, kicking the door open behind him.

He just groaned and surrendered in her arms, instantly feeling hot and bothered. Some small bastion of sanity remained in his mind, though, and he pushed her roughly away, trying to regain his breath. “What is this? Why now?” he asked.

Isabela frowned. “Does it matter?”

Carver folded his arms across his chest. “One minute you are panting after my brother like a bitch in heat and the next you have your tongue down my tonsils. So yes, it matters. Am I a substitute for my brother?”

Isabela shrugged and moved to the door. “If you aren’t interested Pup, you can go. I’m through throwing myself at Hawkes’ feet, or is it talons?”

“Call me pup once more, pirate, and you’ll regret it...” he growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

Isabela perked up. That sounded...promising. There was a fine, dominant man somewhere down there, hidden behind his adolescent resentment for his brother and his constant nagging. She smiled to herself and leaned in, bringing her impressive, half clad breasts inches from his chest. She trailed a finger down his chiseled torso, the tip of her tongue moving suggestively over her bottom lip.

“Pup.” She clearly said, challenging him, and she had just a minute to feel a small tinge of apprehension before his nostrils flared and his fists clenched. She was turned around and  pushed face first into the door the next instance. She didn’t get a chance to protest, and she wouldn’t anyway, she loved it when her partners got a bit rough. The smallclothes were ripped from her body next and she gasped.

“Hey, that was an expensive set,” she managed to mumble, before she felt him fumbling around with his own clothes. He replied with a growl, that made her instantly wet. Oh, the boy had potential. She wiggled her ass and smiled to him over her shoulder. “Come on Pup, make me pay,” she taunted him again, and he was instantly upon her.

Her eyes grew wide. She immediately regretted her teasing as something incredibly wide and thick settled against her opening and  Carver started pushing inside her with a groan. She whimpered and tried to get away, but his heavy frame had her pinned against the door.

“Oh, Maker!” she gasped. “Do you have Qunari in your lineage?”

“Shut up,” Carver growled and just pushed inside her, making her yelp.

She had never taken a cock this big before, and she gasped again, trying to make her muscles relax to accept the invasion. Maker, she felt like she was being taken for the first time.

“Umf..Carver...please...ahh...please...take it easy! CARVER!”

“Shut. Up. You can take it,” he growled and then his hands were upon her. He grabbed her by the waist and heaved her up, carrying her to the bed, his enormous cock halfway inside her. She found herself on her hand and knees, and she whimpered both in relief and distress when he withdrew. She started moaning like a woman possessed as his mouth found her wet, hot core, licking and suckling at her. His inexperience was more than made up by his eagerness and she writhed and moaned his name, and tried to turn around to embrace him, kiss him, do anything to show him how much she was enjoying him but he pushed her abruptly back on her knees, and shoved two fingers roughly inside her.

“You called me a pup once too many, Isabela,” he growled. “Now I will take you like one, and you will LOVE it”

He shoved himself inside her again then, making her grip the bed sheets and bite the pillow to stop herself from screaming.

“Carver.” She arched, screaming out at the pleasure and pain as he pulled back then thrust deeper, then again, until on the third stroke he impaled her with every hard thick inch of hungry, throbbing cock.

She grunted, and then started trembling, fighting to relax around the engorged intruder as it moved back and thrust home again in a torturous, slow plunge. Maker, she wasn’t going to survive this. When he started thrusting, she felt every nerve along her body tingle and ignite, pleasure spreading through her like liquid fire. He was leaning over her, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fondling her breast, his breath panting next to her ear.

He was stoking a fire inside her that threatened to steal her mind, stretching her wide, filling her before retreating, only to open her again. Fire streaked up her spine; pleasure tore through her womb before arching along her body.

The strokes were increasing in thrust and depth, powering inside her as she screamed out beneath him, twisting and thrusting back to drive him harder into the convulsing muscles of her cunt. He was taking her in hard, deep, fast strokes that powered into her while she clenched further around him. She was going to climax. It was building in her womb, surging through her body as she writhed beneath him, crying out, screaming his name as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

With a scream she came, exploding like a supernova, drenching them both with her cream, chanting his name.

He continued thrusting, pounding her in a furious pace, until he arched back and with a series of deep, tortured moans started convulsing inside her, filing her with semen. She gasped at how much seed he was pumping into her, and  came again, just at the feeling of the endless jets coating her insides. She could hardly breathe, her mind drugged by pleasure like she hadn’t known for years. She vaguely wondered if she had ever been pleasured more completely, if she had ever been bested at her own game like this before and her mind came up blank. She collapsed on her stomach, her trembling legs no longer able to support her and Carver pulled her roughly back up

“We aren’t done yet,” he whispered darkly into her ear and her eyes widened in alarm as she realised with a gasp of surprise that he was still erect, still hard. She felt the head of his shaft at the entrance of her ass, and she bit her lip and send an honest, heartfelt prayer to the Maker to help her.“Who’s the pup, now Isabela?” he asked as he started pushing himself through the tight ring of muscles, making her keen and shriek.

“Maker, Carver!” she cried out in alarm as she felt herself being stretched wider than she thought was possible.

He stilled for just a moment, whispering roughly against her ear, asking her if she wanted this.

“Yes,” she hissed, “do it, fuck me!”

She was beyond caring for her well-being as the impossibly thick shaft pressed inside her, pain and pleasure both shooting through her, threatening to steal her sanity. She keened into the pillow, her body arched and tense like a bow, the hot erotism of the incredible dominant display making her wet to her knees. His seed was running down her legs, his shaft was slowly and surely sinking inside her tight passage and she could hear his panting breath and feel the furious beat of his heart against her back. She was just a little bit depraved, enough that the painful, forceful entry was sure to send waves of heat all the way down to her toes. She had been taken forcefully like this before, had even been tied and spanked, and the pain had always made her a little wild. But this, this was beyond even her experience, and she groaned and moaned and shrieked as his length finally slipped inside her, his huge cock buried in her to the hilt.

When he started moving, giving her the barest of second to get used to him first, she closed her eyes and prayed she would survive the orgasm that was already building up inside her. Carver was grunting above her, pistoning her with hard, relentless thrusts, and she arched and moaned, and surrendered to him totally, something she had never done in her life so far, as the young warrior pushed her up and over the edge again, and again and again. She lost count of how many times she came with him hammering  inside her, the sensation of continuous waves of ecstasy rolling over her leaving little space in her brain for any coherent thought.

When he finally came inside her, she just moaned his name and blanked out, her mind mercifully short-circuiting from the pleasure whipping her body and then shutting down.

Carver got up on rubbery legs and looked her over, a smug smile on his lips at the way her lower body was covered in his seed, leaking out of both her openings. He cleaned himself and got dressed just as she was beginning to stir again,  raising eyes still hazed and fogged with pleasure at him. He doubted anyone had ever fucked Isabela to a faint before and his smile got a bit bigger. Nobody had been able to take him like this in the past, all the girls back in Lothering had been terrified of his size, but he had known she would. Maker, he should probably apologise for being so rough, but he was still angry at her teasing.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought his mouth to hers in a hot, wet kiss. He wanted to stay and cuddle her, hold her and pet her luscious body, but he stomped down on that urge with a ruthless foot. She would not appreciate it. Isabela was not one for cuddling and whispered promises, even he, with his limited experience, knew that.

Instead he moved to the door, her eyes following him, and smiled at her.

“Goodnight...Pup,” he taunted her and had just a moment to appreciate her eyes narrowing in indignation before slipping out.

Isabela lay there, slowly recovering, her body incredibly content and sore at the same time, looking at the door with a lustful, dreamy look. She brought her hand to her cunt. Maker she was soaked, he had filled her up so completely nothing would again measure up. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she licked his cream of her fingers, sighing at the earthy, musky taste of hot, virile male.

_Carver_ , she thought, warmth and desire spreading through her. _Who could have imagined_.

* * *

The next day, Varric was the first to notice she was moving a bit stiffly, as if she was sore. And she was. It would take her body days to recover, to find her usual grace and speed.

“Ah, Rivaini,” the dwarf said, his eyes twinkling in amusement, “had a rough ride last night?”

A pleased, lustful smile lit up her face. She was sore, but it had been worth it.

“Sure did, Varric. Sure did...” she drawled, noticing that Carver was avoiding her eyes and blushing slightly pink.

“So it _was_ you we heard screaming after Junior here left!” Varric laughed and Isabela noticed a look of annoyance pass over Carver’s face at the nickname.

She whirled on Varric, her own eyes narrowed, and lifted a finger to him.

“Don’t call him Junior!” she said menacingly. “ _His name is Carver_! And he is a _man!_ ”

Varric stood watching her, perplexed. A second later, he got it. Hawke started laughing as Isabela passed next to Carver and pinched his ass, making him blush and then growl at her. They all saw her shoot him a lustful, dreamy look before gingerly moving up ahead to speak to Merrill, her movements still a bit slow and clumsy.

“Oh,” Varric said. “Ohhh...oh, OH! I get it! Wait! Rivaini! Don’t go!” he rushed after her, drawing a parchment and a quill form his pockets. “Rivaini! Details, I want details! Wait, damn you!”

 

The end.


	3. Sebastian, Hawke and Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Hawke are in a committed relationship, but he refuses to break his vows. She is feeling frustrated and threatens to take a lover if he doesn't satisfy her- enter Fenris.

He came into her bedroom to find her in her bath, one hand lost between her thighs, her head thrown back in total bliss as she pleasured herself. He blushed and cleared his throat, already feeling instant, hot arousal.

Her eyes opened slowly to look at him, and when her glazed, fogged eyes registered him, she gave him an inviting smile and stretched a hand out to him.

“Sebastian...love,” she said her expression seductive and inviting. “Come. Join me.”

He took a step back, blushing with how the bulge in front of his breeches gave away his excitement. He saw her register his withdrawal and her hand dropped.

“I can’t love, you know that,” he murmured, his eyes fastened on the creamy slopes of her breasts peaking from the bathwater. “I have taken vows.”

Her shoulders dropped and she looked away, but not before Sebastian had a chance to catch a glimpse of sadness pass over her features.  He felt guilt spread through him. He should never have agreed in a relationship with her in the first place. This wasn’t fair to her, to this amazingly passionate, fiery woman, keeping her in limbo like this while he contemplated what he really wanted to do with his life. Did he want to go back to Starkhaven and reclaim his throne? Did he want to remain in the chantry? He had no right keeping her life in hiatus while he decided.

“I am sorry, love,” he said for the millionth time.

“No need to apologise, Sebastian,” she softly said. “I knew what I was getting into. I know you might choose to give me up any day now. I can’t help myself. I love you.”

“I love you too, lass,” Sebastian replied, his voice soft with tenderness.

“Do you?” she turned to look at him. “I am slowly going insane here, Sebastian, wanting you and never having you. I am a woman, I have needs. Who is to provide for them if not the man that professes to love me?”

“Love is not about carnality, Hawke. Love is pure and chaste.”

She got up then, gloriously nude, and stepped out of the bathtub, making his breath hitch.

“love is about making the other person happy, Sebastian,” she said, her back turned to him as she wrapped herself in a bug fluffy towel. “And I am not happy. If you want to live as a monk, go ahead. But don’t ask me to live as a nun. I can’t. Not anymore. I have been waiting for you to make up your mind for over half a year now.”

She turned to look at him then,  and her eyes were determined and a little cruel.

“Fuck me yourself, love, or I will find someone else that will.”

The argument kept playing itself over and over again in his head for the better part of next week. She was frustrated beyond her limit, he could understand that. It was difficult for a woman like Hawke, hot and passionate, to be celibate for over half a year. And she had done it, just for him.

Maker, he was such a selfish prick! He wanted both her and his vows. He wanted to have her and remain at the Chantry. But she would leave him if he didn’t do something about it.

He pondered what to do in his head over and over again, he even went to Elthina for advice and she told him that he had to make a decision. Was he a Prince or a Brother of the faith? It wasn’t fair keeping Hawke waiting for his decision. Ah, Maker! All he needed was a little more time, time to think!

He contemplated hiring her a prostitute form The Blooming Rose at some point, but he dismissed the idea right away. For all her fieriness, Marian was a woman that didn’t sleep around with just anyone...It had to be someone she had feelings for, even if those feeling weren’t  anything more than friendship...

Friendship...his gait faltered and then stopped altogether, as the idea formed in his head.

Fenris. Fenris would be perfect.

* * *

Sebastian settled in the armchair to watch, his breeches already untied, the laces hanging loosely down the front, over the impressive bulge of his erection. Maker, it was so hot, watching Marian, his Marian being undressed by another man. Fenris seemed to have overcome any reluctance he had shown at first, when he had come into the room to see them both waiting for him, and was now actively running his hands over inch of skin as it was being exposed: her creamy shoulders, her breasts, the smooth toned skin of her belly.

Sebastian watched in fascination and envy as she arched back when the elf’s mouth found her peaked nipple over the fabric of her breastband. She whispered Fenris’ name, her eyes trained on Sebastian, heavy lidded with desire and lust. Sebastian leaned back, holding her gaze captive with his as he drew his breaches down over his hips and released his member. She gasped and licked her lips as his hand palmed his heavy shaft, slowly stroking himself as he watched the elf suckle at her nipple.

Fenris’ head whipped back to see what had caused her gasp  and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards at the sight of a heavily aroused Sebastian taking care of himself. He smiled cruelly, unlacing his breaches and changing position on the bed so the Prince could have an unrestricted view of Hawke as he pushed her down towards his own shaft. Hawke complied with a soft moan and Fenris felt her hot, moist mouth draw him in just a second later, arching his back and entangling his hands in her hair to guide her.

Sebastian groaned. The sight of her lips closing over the elf’s engrossed shaft, the glimpses he got of her pink tongue as she run it over the purplish head of Fenris’ erection, her muffled sighs...he was going slowly mad here, imagining it was him thrusting slowly in her eager, wet opening, his own cock being swallowed by her sweet, impertinent mouth.

Fenris hissed as she took him as deeply down her throat as possible and tightened his hands in her hair to keep her there for a few seconds, rocking his hips. She pulled back slowly, caressing him with her lips and tongue as she went, only to take him back in just as slowly.

“Maker!” Fenris hissed again. “Sebastian, you don’t know what you’re missing, friend.”

Hawke smiled up at him, his cock still in her mouth before she brought one hand up to fondle his sack and another behind him. Without warning, she shoved one finger inside his ass  and stroked to find that sweet spot inside him that would make him come like a fountain. Fenris closed his eyes and his hips jerked uncontrollably. Sebastian watched in awe as he used short, furious thrusts to fuck her mouth and throat, grunting and moaning her name.

The ex-Prince closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to imagine himself in the elf’s place and he missed the moment when Fenris shot his seed down her throat. When he opened his eyes again, she was licking her lips, semen running down the corner of her mouth and he moaned low and deep in his chest, as the elf pulled her up and licked his own cream off her face and then claimed her in a hot, bruising kiss. Hawke purred as she shared his taste with him, their tongues dueling, their hands petting muscles already slick with sweat.

“How does she taste, my friend?” Fenris asked him, making him break out in sweat. The images unfurling in his mind were making his hands shake. Maker, Hawke spread open, her legs on his shoulders while he licked and tasted her...He let a groan and gripped his straining shaft even harder.

“I don’t know...” he admitted, his voice hoarse and gravely, to the elf that pushed Hawke on her back and knelt between her legs.

“Honestly Sebastian? You have never licked this sweet pussy?” Fenris smirked and dipped a finger inside her gathering up her juices. He then made a show of licking his fingers, purring at her taste and musky smell. “She tastes...divine, my friend.”

“Fenris...” Hawke moaned and wiggled her hips towards him, silently begging him to finish what he had started. With a smile, Fenris complied and buried his face between her spread thighs.

Sebastian had to grip the armrest of the armchair with his free hand to stop himself from rushing to her for a taste as the lanky elf licked and sucked at her hot centre and her groans and moans filled the air. He felt both incredible lust and overwhelming envy, hearing her chant Fenris’ name as the elf pushed her over the edge in an orgasm that made her  shriek and twist the bedcovers in her fists.

The elf gave her little time to compose herself from her mind-shattering orgasm, before turning her around and positioning her. He was hard again. This torture was going to continue. Sebastian closed his eyes again, his blood roaring in his ears, his erection a  painful, fiery brand in his hand.

 “On your knees, Hawke,” Fenris mumbled, his voice hoarse with desire making Sebastian’s eyes shoot wide open again and she shot the elf a mischievous smile before she turned around and bend over, bracing herself on her elbows, her luscious ass up in the air.

Fenris ran his hands down her spine, making goose bumps appear, before kneading her luscious flesh  and running a finger from her oversensitive clit to the  puckered opening of her ass.

“Where do you want me to take her, Sebastian?” he asked the prince, one finger dipping in her sheath, making her moan and writhe on the bed.

Sebastian dragged his eyes with some difficulty away from the spot where he could see the elf adding another finger inside her, and then a third. He was so enthralled with the sight of her pink, glistening flesh, he didn’t even register the question at first.

“Huh?” he managed to drag his eyes away long enough to acknowledge the elf.

“Up her cunt or up her ass, Sebastian?” Fenris asked, making both Hawke and Sebastian gasp and moan.

“Just fuck her,” Sebastian managed to whisper, his erection throbbing and jerking against his hand.

Hawke wiggled her hips at Fenris as he bend to lick at her puckered opening, his fingers stretching her sheath wide open.

“Answer me, my friend,” he insisted. “You wanted me to fuck her. Where? Shall I shove my dick up her cunt, and shoot my seed inside her womb?” he paused and gave a few hard thrusts with his fingers, making Hawke keen and shriek, “or rip her ass apart? What do you prefer?”

Sebastian gave a long, tortured groan. _Maker help me_ , was his only coherent thought as he shot up from the chair and moved to the bed, pushing Fenris out of the way. The elf chuckled as the Prince unceremoniously shoved himself inside Hawke, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

Fenris gathered his clothes, trying to avoid looking at the Prince and Hawke as the tall human pounded her with punishing force. Hawke was whimpering and panting Sebastian’s name and he was moaning like a man in pain, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force as he delivered one thrust after the other in a blinding, punishing rhythm.

It seemed the Prince was going to fuck Hawke into the next week.   

Good, Fenris thought. Her plan had worked like a charm.

Little conniving minx!

 

 

 


	4. Sebastian/Anders

Sebastian was glad he had forgone his usual armour today; it was blistering hot, and the trees in Hawke’s garden had been recently trimmed, so they afforded little to no shadow at all. Sure, archery was not as demanding and taxing as sparring with daggers, but still, the glaring sun and the sweat pouring off him in steady rivulets made it difficult to concentrate.

Hawke, damn him, seemed totally unfazed. The man was infuriating like that, always well groomed, always cool and collected even in the heat of battle. Sebastian had marvelled at the easy skill with which the man could appear as if he had just come from a Hightown banquet, even when he had been trudging through the dust of the Wounded Coast, killing bandits.

They were both rogues, but that was where all similarities ended. Hawke was witty and sarcastic, a sneering atheist, irreverent and refusing to stick to norms and rules. Sebastian was a devout brother of the Chantry, stiff and overly formal most times, a lifetime of formal schooling on how a Prince should behave still apparent in his posture and mannerisms, although by his own admission he had behaved nothing like a prince before coming to the Chantry. Despite their differences, or even because of them, the two men had become best buddies, seemingly the moment they had met.  Sebastian had even helped him woo the pirate queen, even though before his vows of celibacy he had been...more interested in members of his own sex. Not that he had been choosy or anything. Those days, if it walked on two feet, it could be nailed by the youngest Vael.

“Getting hot, Sebby?” Hawke teased as the former Prince wiped the sweat off his brow and decided to chuck the heavy doeskin vest he had on over his linen tunic.

“I am actually doing something here, Garrett, rather than sitting on my arse and hoping the arrows will find their mark by an act of divine grace,” he grumbled. “I was supposed to be teaching you.”

Garrett snickered, seated on the bench under the shadow of the only tree lush enough to provide one, stretching his feet in front of him.

“I am learning, Sebby,” he smiled. “I am watching you. Learning heaps, here. Excellent form you have there, your Highness.”

“Sloth is a sin in the eyes of the Maker, Garrett,” Sebastian countered, half expecting the eye-roll the other man gave him. “Get up your fat arse and come here. We had agreed you would help me get better with my twin daggers and I would teach you which end of an arrow goes ‘ouch’.”

“My ass is not fat!” Hawke protested and shot to his feet with a disgruntled huff. He took up the spare bow Sebastian had brought with him and eyed it suspiciously, as if the dew wood would soon sprout teeth and bite him.

Sebastian smiled, even as he pulled the string back across his cheek and released his arrow. It embedded itself right into the bull’s-eye of the target, and Sebastian smiled, proud of himself, before he turned to Hawke with a teasing smile.

“Isabela is helping you burn the excess fat, I hear,” he smirked to his best friend.

Hawke shrugged, seemingly casually, but Sebastian didn’t miss the spark of heated interest that lit up the other rogue’s eyes once the sultry pirate had been mentioned. “She does her best, I guess...” Hawke muttered.

“Lust is also a sin in the eyes of the Maker, Garry.”

“Don’t call me Garry,” Hawke smacked Sebastian at the back of his head. “You know I hate it.”

“You call me Sebby,” Sebastian laughed and smacked him too. “I hardly see the difference.”

“You are too haughty for your own good, Your ex-Highness. I am just trying to bring you down a peg or two, so you can converse with us mere mortals...” Hawke replied, and then went on imitating the brogue and intonation of Sebastian’s voice with unnerving accuracy “Besides, arrogance is a sin in the eyes of the Maker”.

“Andraste help me...” Sebastian sighed. “Do I really sound that bad?”

“Let’s ask Anders, shall we?”

Sebastian blushed. He couldn’t help it. The mere mention of the mage’s name could fluster him too no end these days. And then he groaned. A few days ago, the blond mage had timidly approached him to ask him a favour, but Sebastian had misunderstood and had started giving Anders one of his sermons on the Maker and the proper place of magic; Anders, instead of starting one of his rants about the injustice of the treatment of mages in the hands of the Chantry had just blushed, stammered an apology and backed away as soon as he could. Sebastian had been left there, stunned, and feeling unexpectedly guilty. Hawke had riled him afterwards on how sanctimonious and dogmatic he had sounded and had made him feel worse.

When the following day Sebastian found out that all that Anders had wanted to ask of him was to secretly perform the wedding ceremony for two young apostates that had decided to turn themselves in to the circle, but had wanted to be married first, he had been inconsolable. Anders had avoided him ever since, a hurt and disappointed look on his face.

“I was a fool, no need to remind me,” he admitted with a sigh. “Anders won’t even speak to me anymore.”

Hawke threw his head back and laughed, while his friend went to retrieve his arrows, feeling irritated and flustered. Hawke had managed to discover Sebastian was attracted to the blond mage, and it had been one of the favourite ways he had of teasing him. Sebastian was determined to stick to his vows, trying to prove to Grand Cleric Elthina how serious he was about them; he wasn’t entirely ready to give up on the simple pleasure he could draw from just being around the talented healer, though.

He had tried to approach him, hoping they could overcome their differences and become at least friends, but every time he tried to bridge the gap between them, he started stuttering and blushing and ended up giving him sermons, that invariantly ended up in arguments and in Anders storming away, mumbling about over-pious priests and where they could stuff their prayer books.

Vows of chastity aside, Sebastian would have liked other things stuffed there.

 It was just then, while the ex-prince’s mind had ventured to decidedly sinful thoughts that Hawke decided to test his non-existent archery skills.

With a whoosh, he let an arrow fly. It veered wildly out of course and embedded itself ...right into Sebastian’s buttock.

"I guess that's the end that goes ouch!" Hawke said, rushing to his side, before Sebastian's fist slammed into his face, knocking him out flat.

* * *

Anders had just sat down to have lunch in his stuffy, boiling hot clinic, when he heard a voice outside. It sounded vaguely familiar, and he scrunched his face trying to place it, while putting his meagre lunch away. Then he heard a groan and a definitely familiar Starkhaven brogue calling his name and he jumped a foot in the air.

 Sebastian! Damn the man! Wasn’t it enough that he made his everyday hell with the attraction he made him feel, wasn’t it enough that every night was filled with wicked, lustful dreams of the tall archer **;** did he have to invade his day too?

He was still a bit angry with him, too, and more than frustrated. Sure their views were different, and that was an understatement if he had ever heard one, but Anders had made every effort he could to approach the man. Knowing full well how devoted the ex-prince was to his faith and his vows, he had decided to settle for nothing else than friendship, or at least affability between them; he had been rebuked at every turn.

He strode to the door, fully prepared to give the Prince a piece of his mind, threw the door open and ...Maker, was that blood? He slipped his arms around Sebastian’s torso to support him as the rogue started slipping to the ground, his face pale and clammy.

“Andraste’s dripping cunt, Sebastian! What happened?”

The prince smiled faintly, before opening his cerulean blue eyes. “That’s blaspheme, Anders...” he mumbled.

“And that’s a fucking arrow in your ass, Sebastian **.** ” Anders had managed to drag the tall rogue to an examining table, and had now discovered the source of all the blood. “Worry about that. Andraste will survive.”

“I tried to pull it out, but...”

“...it hurts like a bitch.” Anders ranhis hand over the blood-soaked buttock, inwardly cursing himself for enjoying the sensation of the firm flesh under his fingers while the man was suffering. He was jerked out of his lustful thoughts when Sebastian let outa ragged moan and quickly used a spell to alleviate some of the pain.

“Be thankful it wasn’t poisoned, Choir-Boy,” he muttered softly, “because putting my mouth there to suck the poison would have been out of the question.”

Sebastian chuckled, surprising Anders to no end.

“Why would my own arrows be poisoned?” he asked and then closed his eyes again, feeling lightheaded.

Anders’ hand stilled while it was examining the arrow. “Your own arrow?” he started laughing. “Oh, Maker, Sebastian, what is that, some new form of penance? Do you shoot arrows to your own ass for wicked thoughts, now?”

Sebastian turned over more completely on the table, offering a complete view of the said mouth-watering ass to the healer. Anders’ laugh died on his lips; he was suddenly overcome with the sudden desire to pet and squeeze the firm, boyish globes of flesh.

“I was teaching Hawke...” Sebastian mumbled. “He shot me by mistake. I think.”

Anders did another double take. “Eh...Sebastian...where exactly is Hawke now?”

“I punched him,” Sebastian slurred. And he blacked out.

“Oh, MAKER!”

* * *

Sebastian came around with the sensation of a cool breeze on his nether regions. He looked back over his shoulder to see Anders, carefully peeling away pieces of his leather breaches away from his wound, his honey-coloured eyes shining with concentration and...something else, something Sebastian could recognise. It was desire. The same desire that was now darkening his own eyes as the healer run a careful, and surprisingly tender hand over his naked flesh, making goose flesh appear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from moaning as Anders run a knife under his smallclothes, cutting them carefully away, and prayed fervently that the blood that was left in him wouldn’t rush south and show the healer how much he was enjoying his touch. Some small sound escaped him though and Anders paused his petting to raise startled eyes to him.

“Anders...” Sebastian left a throaty moan, “would you stop fondling me and remove the damned arrow?”

Anders’ lips quirked upwards in a naughty smile, and suddenly everything was set right among them, both men realising that the tension and animosity between them had all been due to attraction and desire, and that the feelings were mutual; it was a huge discovery as each of them thought the other man had despised him.

“The shaft must be pushed all the way in before is it pulled out,” Anders said, his voice hoarse, and Sebastian’s face flamed at the double meaning, his eyes darkening to a dark, stormy blue.

“Bastard,” he moaned. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Anders helped him on his side, and pulled the rest of the Prince’s clothes away from his body, revealing his manhood, an impressive sight even flaccid and soaked in blood.

“More every minute,” he replied, his raging lust tempered by the knowledge of how much this was going to hurt. He was loathe to cause the man any more pain; instead he wanted to offer him pleasure, tender touches, soft kisses. For the first time, the idea that this might be more than lust pierced his brain and Anders nearly stumbled under this second revelation.

Unable to resist the impulse he leaned towards the handsome prince and kissed him. Sebastian tensed for just a second, before relaxing and responding, his mouth moulding to Anders’, his lips opening to allow him entry. The mage moaned low and deep in his throat when his tongue first slid along Sebastian’s. Maker, his taste was intoxicating, like the best wine he had ever tried, and he felt his head spinning. Sebastian’s hand shot up and tangled in his hair, cupping the back of his head, demanding a deeper contact with a little sigh and Anders was more than happy to comply. Their tongues tangled together, sliding against each other, their teeth and lips clashing in a devouring kiss.

Anders tried to pull back to breathe, but Sebastian didn’t let him, growling like a beast, jerking his head towards him again with a fistful of his blond hair, until Anders whimpered and cupped his face. Immediately the desperation of the kiss lessened into a kind, tender caress once again. They pulled apart, gazing into each other’s eyes, their breaths sawing in their chests and their eyes darkened, Anders’ to a fine whiskey brown, Sebastian’s to a stormy, midnight blue.

“Once I remove this arrow...” Anders started, “I’m yours...” Sebastian completed. “And you are mine.”

“What about your vows?” Anders’ eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. “I don’t...I don’t agree with many of your views... Maker, Sebastian, you being in the Chantry, with that mouth of yours is criminal, but...”

Sebastian pulled him in for another kiss and moaned into his mouth. “Screw my vows. I want you.”

A growl was all the answer he got.

The process of removing the arrow was gruesome, and Anders had to be very careful not to hurt the archer more; one miscalculation while he pushed the arrow through could mean the tip fracturing against a bone, or piercing a vital archery and causing massive bleeding. It was hard for him to concentrate after the kiss they had just exchanged, by the look of blind trust on Sebastian’s face as he gave him a block of wood to bite down on sobered him up in no time. He was determined not to cause any more pain than was necessary; he knew he would have to, still, his soft healer’s heart was already bleeding at the thought of it.

He needed the man to be conscious, otherwise he would have put him under with a sleeping spell. Even so, he cast a pain numbing spell first, before locking his eyes with Sebastian’s and giving him a nod. The ex-prince fisted a strap of leather with both hands and bit down on the block of wood, before nodding back. Despite the numbing spell, and the block of wood, the scream that echoed  the clinic when Anders pushed the arrow completely though made him cringe.  He shot a look to the Prince and noticed, to his relief, that he had blacked out again. He quickly sawed off the tip of the arrow, making sure no splinters were left, and pulled it back out. From there on it was a matter of seconds for him to close the wound.

He took a moment to run his hand through the auburn curls at the back of the man’s head, to smooth back some tendrils of hair over his sweaty forehead and lay a tender kiss on his cheek, before fetching a basin of water to clean the blood off him. He couldn’t resist the urge to run his tongue over the newly healed little scar, and now that the danger to the archer’s life had passed he let himself enjoy the sight and the feel of his skin under his fingers. Feeling like a pervert, he ran the wet cloth over Sebastian genitals, washing the gore off him gently, and then down the crack of his ass, and his strong, toned thighs. Some blood had pooled in his bellybutton and he cleaned that too, his erection a fiery brand in his breaches at the sight of that light dusting of auburn curls that trailed down Sebastian’s torso, intersected that perfectly cute bellybutton and continued on to frame his heavy, virile cock.

That bellybutton, a perfect little indentation, set on the rippling abdominals of the royal archer, just begged to be licked and Anders could not resist the temptation anymore and lowered  him mouth to it, giving it a good flick with his tongue before he moved higher and laved one of the flat male disks of the rogue’s nipples. Even unconscious, Sebastian let out a moan and Anders smiled, before sinking his teeth gently in the puckered flesh and pulling on the tiny nubbin.

“Yesss...” Sebastian hissed, his eyes sliding open, and his hands both came up to frame Anders head and pull him to his chest even more firmly. He run his fingers through the mage’s hair, untying the leather band that kept the ponytail in place and arched up to him, silently begging him to lick and bite and nibble some more. Smiling against the archer’s flesh, Anders moved slowly upwards, taking the time to appreciate his wide shoulders, toned to perfection by years of archery practice, unhurriedly running his mouth, hands and tongue up the straining column of his neck, nibbling under his chin and leaving tiny bite marks, before he was pulled into a sizzling kiss.

Without realising it, Anders found himself pulled over the archer, his hips grinding against him, their mouth battling for dominance. Sebastian pushed frantically at the mage’s robes, blindly trying to undo the clasps and buckles and Anders chuckled at his impatience.

“Slowly, Sebby,” he whispered. “Slow down. We have all the time in the world.”

Sebastian growled. “Say it again,” he moaned, thrusting his hips upward, desperate for more contact.

“What? Sebby?” Anders asked. “You like that?”

“I love it...” Sebastian murmured against the mage’s throat, licking a path towards his ear. “Coming from you, I love it.”

 “Ahh! Damn, this is good...” Anders struggled to concentrate with the other man’s tongue licking his ear and wrecking havoc to his ability to form coherent speech, “who else calls you that?”

“Hawke,” Sebastian murmured before yanking on the mage’s robes once again. “Off,” he growled. “Now.”

Anders pulled away and stood on his feet to comply, and Sebastian leaned back on one elbow to watch, unashamed with his now raging hard-on. Anders nearly blushed at the way the rogue’s blue eyes ate up every inch of his skin as it was revealed, knowing full well that he could never compete with the toned perfection that was Sebastian. Still, the other man looked more than pleased at his appearance, if the appreciative way his eyes were trailing over him were any indication. Sebastian trailed a hand down that well muscled torso and fisted it around his cock, slowly pumping up and down as his attention riveted on the pale flesh the mage was revealing, finally biting down on his lip with a barely restrained expression of lust when he tossed his smallclothes away and his rod, thick and long, sprang free.

Anders extended a hand to the rogue and he took it without hesitation, although a slightly puzzled look crossed his face. Anders blushed, and looked around.

“My house is not much, but...not on the table where I examine people. Not on blood and gore,” his head fell. “I am sorry, Sebastian, you deserve better than this...this hovel.”

Sebastian smiled and used his help to pull himself to his feet. He immediately felt lightheaded and Anders stepped closer to support him. Their naked bodies made contact for the first time and both men sighed and moaned at the sensation.

“I am afraid you will have to take over,” Sebastian mumbled, luxuriating at the feel of Anders’ skin against his own, at the way their straining cocks rubbed against each other. “I feel...woozy.”

Anders smiled sweetly and quickly led the other man to the curtained off area at the back, where his modest bed awaited and helped him lie down. He followed him down, covering his body with his own, rubbing his erection against the archer’s, who just threw his head back and moaned in pleasure.

His confidence soaring at the soft sound, at the utter look of surrender in the normally dominant man’s eyes, he flipped the larger man on his stomach, smiling wickedly at the startled gasp that escaped him, and wasted no time in trailing his hands down his lover’s back, until they reached his slim hips and the pert globes of his ass. His separated the firm buttocks and buried his face against his flesh, his tongue finding the small puckered ring of muscles and pushing inside.

Sebastian’s back arched and his eyes rolled back as Anders’ tongue licked and teased, a fine tremble racking his frame. He started moaning and gasping, the feeling of that talented, lithe tongue pushing inside him, _fucking him_ , more than he could take. His erection was trapped beneath him and he started rocking against the hard mattress, trying to offer himself some relief. Anders grasped his hips to hold him still, and used a hand to shove his thighs apart and slightly higher so his wicked tongue could trail lower, licking over his scrotum and suckling one of his balls into his mouth.

Sebastian nearly screamed, growling and panting as he felt his control slipping. Maker, it had been so long, so long, and now this wicked, talented mouth was tormenting him, making him keen and pant like a virgin lass having her clit licked for the first time.

Anders stopped, releasing his testicle with an audible suckling sound and returned to his hole, now pushing one, then two thick fingers inside, preparing him. Sebastian fisted his hands on the blanket covering the bed, and started praying that he wouldn’t blow his load and embarrass himself so soon. Bur when a third finger joined the first two, his hips started bucking and his moans filled the room, along with the most blasphemous curse words that had ever left his mouth. Anders chuckled before turning him to his side and swooping down to lick the thick drop of precum pearling on the tip of his cock.

“Maker. Don’t. Stop. More. More. Deep. Make me cum!” Sebastian panted and keened when the mage complied and sucked his cock deep into his throat. It only took a few seconds before Sebastian fisted his hands in his blond hair and pressed upwards, emptying himself into his eager mouth with a series of agonised, wrenching moans. Anders swallowed down every drop, lapping up eagerly to catch the last beads escaping him as his hips twitched and his body writhed in a powerful, mind-blowing orgasm.

As Sebastian closed his eyes and slumped back on the bed, trying to catch his breath, feeling lightheaded and nearly faint from the overpowering rush of pleasure, Anders slid back up his body and captured his lips in a soothing kiss. Sebastian tasted his own release on the mage’s tongue, salty and a bit bitter, and smiled sweetly, gratefully. Anders’ hand was pinching his nipple and his thigh was edged between his thighs, rubbing against his softened cock.

“Are you alright?” Anders asked, concerned that it might have all been a bit too much for Sebastian; the man had sustained a serious injury earlier, after all, and had lost a lot of blood. His own erection was burning like hot iron, but he would happily settle for what he had already been given if Sebastian wasn’t feeling up to it.    

Sebastian purred like a big cat and wrapped his hand around the mage’s cock, stroking up and down in that special way that only another man knew how to. He kissed Anders again and then, wordlessly, turned on his back and raised his ass in the air, giving Anders a sultry, lust-filled, come-hither look.

No more invitation was needed.

Anders settled on his knees, opening his legs wide to lower himself on the bed, and fingered Sebastian’s hole again, making the other man leave a breathless grunt. The slightly stretched hole was too inviting to resist; he just had to slip his tongue in there again, he just needed to feel the tight muscles clamping down on it.

It made Sebastian hard again so fast, his head started swimming and his vision blurred. Then he felt the wide head of Anders’ erection against his opening and drew a deep breath, trying to relax his muscles for the coming invasion. Maker knew, he much rather take than being taken, but he wasn’t in top form and he was determined to be with Anders any way he could. Still, when the head started penetrating him, he couldn’t resist tensing, and leaving a pained yelp. Anders immediately stopped and wrapped his hands around him, resting his head on his lower back.

“We don’t have to...” he started but Sebastian interrupted him.

“No. I want to. Maker, I want to. I want you to take me...” Sebastian said, his heart missing a beat at the incredible tenderness Anders was showing him. “I love you.” The words slipped out of his mouth like velvet, and by the way Anders’ hands tightened around him he knew the mage was surprised by his admission.

He felt tears wet his eyes as the blond healer turned him around, and spreading his thighs wide slipped inside him, using a spell to better lubricate and prepare him. There was pain, pinching discomfort, but the feeling was right, and he raised his hand to Anders’ face, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a loving kiss. Anders’ eyes never left him as he seated his burning cock into his depths and then moaned  before whispering the words back to him.

They shared a heated kiss, all wet tongues and blistering passion, before the mage started moving inside the rogue and pleasure soon overrode all other emotions. Lust took over, and Anders slammed into him faster and harder, until their panting breaths and tortured moans were the only sounds in the room, accentuated by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.  Sebastian wrapped his strong arms around the mage’s body, holding him tight, and they moved fluently, effortlessly together. Anders’ cock was rasping against that tender, perfect spot inside him, and he felt another climax move along every nerve in his body, tingling along his spine, tightening his balls. Anders moaned and then grunted as he build up speed before screaming his name and coming, jets of blistering hot seed shooting inside the ex-prince, filling him with liquid heat. He joined him with a low growl deep in his throat, and then his cock jerked and twitched, spaying his and Anders’ stomach with semen.

They kept rocking together for a few minutes before Anders gently pulled out and got up on wobbly legs to fetch a wet cloth to clean them both. He then lay down beside him, burying his head against Sebastian’s neck with a soft, contented sigh. One arms curled around him, the other under his head, Sebastian was nearly ready to succumb to sleep when the mage’s voice, soft and a bit uncertain spoke up.

“What happens now?”

Sebastian pulled the blond mage closer and let a purring sigh. “We rest. Then we do this some more. I meant what I said Anders.”

“But your vows...” Anders weakly protested. “You will have to leave the Chantry. Maker Sebastian, I meant what I said too. I don’t want you to pay for this.”

“My vows have already been broken. So we rest, stop thinking about it, and take every day as it comes...” Sebastian mumbled, relaxation making his brogue even deeper.

Anders just sighed and burrowed his head more firmly against his neck.

“Next time, though,” Sebastian added, “it is my turn. I will show you how you properly fuck a man, Anders. You are too soft.”

Anders chuckled and closed his eyes.

“I will hold you to that, Sebby.”

* * *

Hawke stumbled into Anders’ clinic, holding his head. As if the punch he had gotten hadn’t been enough, he had banged his head against the stones of the garden’s patio, and now his head was throbbing like a wound. He had come to alone, and had immediately followed the trail of blood Sebastian had left, through the cellar and the secret exit to Darktown and to Anders’ clinic.

Worried about his friend, he didn’t stop to announce himself, although the hour was getting late and the lantern was not lit. He staggered inside, waiting until his blurred eyesight got accustomed to the dim light and made it to the back where Anders slept to ask for his help and learn about Sebastian.

He didn’t realise what he was seeing at first, but when he did he let out a surprised little gasp, that was enough to wake the two lovebirds that were cuddled together, naked, on Anders’ bed. As the two men shot awake and rushed to cover themselves, Hawke’s eyes darted form one to the other, taking in the love bites and scratches on their skins, their hooded eyes, the marks their stubble had left on each other.

He smiled at their embarrassment, some of his devilish humour coming out despite his pounding headache.

“Either I have a concussion, or you two have finally seen the light.” He dryly commented and then slumped to the floor.

“Both.” The two men simultaneously replied and then looked at each other and smiled.

The end.

 

 

 


	5. Aveline/Donnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time coming...I think it was my friend TIM that had first requested it, followed by a host of other people: Aveline and her handsome hubby. A sensual massage turning steamy. Oh my!
> 
> It was hard to write, I won't lie, because it is hard to imagine Aveline having a sex life, and what I could imagine of it was missionary position in the dark...but she is a red-head and they have a reputation of being fiery. Who knows? Maybe the guard captain is a completely different woman in the comfort of her home.
> 
> To make the idea a little more believable, I thought of this: what if Aveline is getting curious by the innuendos Isabela has been throwing around (you know, thumb up his ass, etc.) What if Donnic is unsure of her affection because of her first husband and she learns about it? Wouldn’t she take the situation into her own hands? Literally?
> 
> Pairing: Aveline/Donnic 
> 
> Kinks: rimming, fingering, prostate massage, milking and lots others I can’t really think of, but will come up as I write.

 

“Serah Hawke,” she was jerked out of her thoughts by the voice of Aveline’s new husband, Donnic. She send the man a warm smile. She liked Donnic, if not for his own sake then just for the fact that he had made Aveline happy. But what was not to like of him? He was a strong, dependable man, polite and courteous and always there for her friend; like a big steady rock for her to lean on.

He wasn’t half bad to look at too.

“Donnic,” she smiled. “Good to see you. Where is Aveline?”

“She is..she is at home,” Donnic gave an uncharacteristic stutter, blushed the tiniest bit and then, looking nervously around sat down beside her. “May we talk?”

Hawke felt a wave of apprehension come over her. What was this? She hoped to the Maker that he wasn’t prepared to make a pass on her, because she would castrate the man.

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Aveline...” Donnic stuttered. “ Serah Hawke, this is...this is uncomfortable, but I have to ask.”

“Ask about what, Donnic?” she tensed.

He bend his head over his clenched hands on the table. “Aveline’s first husband...Wesley. Ser Wesley. You did know him, correct?”

Hawke let the breath she had been holding go with a soft whoosh of relief.

“Just barely. He died on the flight form Lothering. He...”

 “I know how he died,” Donnic interrupted her, uncharacteristically. It was not usual for the guard to be impolite, which only served to demonstrate how awkward the conversation was for him. “Aveline and I have talked about it, at length. What I need to know is...” he cleared his throat, “was he handsome?”

“Handsome?” Hawke repeated, completely baffled. “Yes, he was a handsome man, for a templar. What is this all about, Donnic?”

Donnic turned even redder and suddenly, Hawke’s eyes opened wide in understanding. Donnic was comparing himself to Aveline’s late husband. What had the tactless woman done? Called out Wesley’s name while he was fucking her or something?

She gave him a smile, which she hoped was encouraging, and gently prodded, “are you concerned she might be thinking of him still?”

“I am concerned I might....not be ...enough for her,” Donnic was now redder than a ripe tomato.

“Sexually, you mean?” Hawke pursed her lips, enjoying his awkwardness, the little prankster in her wanting to have some fun. “What did she do, Donnic? Measured your...assets with a ruler?”

Donnic blushed even more, coughed, stuttered, shot her a strict look, got up and walked away.

Well. That was interesting. Wait until Isabela learned about it.

* * *

Aveline sighed and took another gulp of her strong whiskey. Hawke just gave her an indulgent, encouraging smile, or what she hoped was one. Maker knew, her smiles were more often described as cheeky, or saucy, than encouraging. Not her fault, really. That was just the way she was wired.

“So, Donnic came to see you...”Aveline fiddled with her glass. “Are you going to tell me what about?”

“If you promise I won’t get a bas relief of your shield crest on my lovely face, I just might.”

Aveline narrowed her eyes. “You just might, Hawke. Tell me you didn’t flirt with my husband.”

Hawke raised both her hands in the air. “He came to me, Aveline, not the other way around.”

Aveline’s eyes narrowed even more. “Okay, then,” she drawled menacingly. “Tell me _he_ didn’t flirt with you, then.”

“No, but he requested some...interesting information.”

Aveline’s eyes bulged and she hiccupped on her drink. “Donnic asked you...about me?? What about?”

“Not about you,” Hawke smiled, enjoying herself. “He wanted to know about Wesley. How handsome he was, and things like that...I have a feeling he would have asked about your late husband’s ...virility, if he hadn’t lost his nerve.”

Aveline’s face turned as red as her hair. “Oh, Maker,” she gasped, mortified. “Why would he...”

Hawke’s smile grew a bit wider. “What did you do, Aveline? Make comparisons? The man actually admitted to being afraid he wasn’t...enough for you, if you get what I mean?”

Aveline shot up and started pacing in front of the fireplace, deigning to shoot her friend a scathing look. “My sex life is none of your business. Butt out of it.”

She continued pacing, and then abruptly, she came to a stop, her shoulders hunched and she sighed, her back still turned to Hawke.

“He might have gotten the impression...that...I...that I wasn’t really satisfied with...”

“Aren’t you?”

The red-haired guard captain whipped her head around, annoyed once again. “Of course I am! I just didn’t want him to think I was...”

“Promiscuous?”

Aveline’s shoulders fell again.

Hawke got up, laughing, and embraced her friend. “Oh Aveline!” she chided. “For such a clever woman you are profoundly idiotic sometimes...Go find Isabela. She has some tips that will help. There is nothing to be ashamed of when giving your man pleasure...trust me.”

* * *

Donnic went into his modest house, the one he had been sharing with Aveline these past few months, with a weary body and a heavy heart. Things between him and his wife were not...well, were not good. They had had a fight the previous night, because he had dared propose something more...adventurous in bed and she had been insulted.

It was getting increasingly difficult to juggle his two roles; in the barracks he was her subordinate, one of her guards, required to follow orders and show proper respect. But in their own house he wanted to be on top, he wanted to be the man in the relationship. Not take his cue from her. Even Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, was, from snippets of conversation he had heard, more...submissive to Fenris in the bedroom. He had tried talking to his friend about his predicament, eager for advice, but the elf had growled and told him to just bend the Guard Captain over a table and show her who was the man in the house.

Hmph. Big words. Aveline was...intimidating, to say the least. And she seemed to bulk every time he tried to propose something more...risqué. She had actually told him that he should have married Isabela if those were the things he expected of her in bed. Damn...he was a healthy, virile man, insanely in love with his wife; all he wanted was to show her how much he wanted her. Why was she being so defensive, unless...her previous husband. Obviously, he had been better at this than him.

Lost in thought, he walked through the bedroom door, half way into removing his chestpiece and his pauldrons, when he came to an abrupt halt. He looked around him, a wide disbelieving look on his face. The whole room was illuminated by soft candlelight, aromatic candles on every surface; but what really made his breath catch was his wife, Aveline, dressed in a barely there, silk negligee, her long red hair loose, lying on the bed, waiting for him, with a half expectant, half embarrassed smile.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked a few minutes later, lying there on his stomach, totally naked, shivers of anticipation running through his frame.

“Hush, husband,” she murmured in a low seductive voice he hadn’t heard from her before, while straddling his waist. Maker, she was naked under that flimsy thing, he realised with a jolt as her centre rubbed over the small of his back, wet and hot against his heated skin. He stifled a moan, as her hands, rough and calloused from handling a sword all day started spreading oil all over his shoulder and back.

A massage. She had said she was going to devote herself to his pleasure tonight. _Maker. What has gotten into her? Scratch that, I don’t care_ , he thought as her hands started rubbing the oil on his flesh, talented fingers running down the length of his spine and then up again, over his taut shoulders, gently massaging away the tension.

He heard a slight ruffling sound behind him, and turned over his shoulder to watch her fling that silky little scrap of a nightgown away, remaining gloriously naked in he soft candlelight. He bit his lip at the sight of her pert breasts, tipped with coral nipples and adorned with freckles. He loved her breasts, usually concealed under her heavy armour but now free and slightly jiggling, firm and yet so pliant. Donnic’s mouth watered at the memory of the first time he had taken those pert, raspberry like nipples in his mouth and the sounds she had made.

“Give me a taste, wife,” he growled, his eyes fixed on her, but she just smiled and bent over him, rubbing herself over the oiled muscles of his back. She smirked with feminine pride at the little moan that escaped him at the feeling of her breasts rubbing all over his back, while her hand snuck underneath him to tangle in the coarse pelt of hair on his chest looking for the small, flat disks of his nipples and pinching them. Donnic though he would go blind from desire as her whole body settled on top of his, rubbing sensually over him, her nipples, hard little points rasping against his back, her hot, moist centre wetting the small of his back, her hands on his chest, thrumming his nipples.

With a groan, he turned over, careful as not to upset her balance and raised his hands to cup her breasts, his shaft rubbing at her entrance. She moaned, throwing her head back and rode his shaft, rubbing it shamelessly with her dripping cleft, letting it slide between her drenched folds.

Just as Donnic was ready to angle his hips just so, and lose himself in her heat, she drew away and slapped his hands down.

“No, no,” she breathlessly protested. “I said this night was dedicated to you, Donnic, don’t make me tie you down. I want to pleasure you.”

He resisted, already frustrated, his shaft leaking precum, desperate to be inside her. “Open up then, wife,” he pleaded. “Nothing is as good as being inside you.”

 She leaned down to kiss him, and then smiled, a small hint of insecurity still in her eyes.

“Isabela told me of...a trick. I want to try it. Is that okay?”

Donnic tensed a bit at the mention of the pirate’s name. Coming from Isabela it had to be something very...Maker, even he didn’t know what to call it. One part of him was thrilled she was willing to try one of the lusty pirate’s tricks and the other was intimidated. After all, this was one of _Isabela’s_ tricks. Who knew what it entailed?

“Does it involve pain?” he smiled, and Aveline blushed.

“She said it would be the most pleasurable thing you have ever experienced...” she bit her lip. “But it involves...fingers...in unusual...places.” she stuttered.

Donnic’s eyes flew open. He had heard of things like that, but he would never think Aveline would want to...Had he even understood right?

“Mine or yours?”

She bit her lip again, redder in the face than her hair.

“Mine. In yours.”

Donnic’s head fell back with a moan. Maker help him.

* * *

Minutes later, he was back to being reduced to a shivering, totally relaxed, warm puddle of goo, as his wife’s hands rubbed over his body. She had started out at this calves and was now making her way upwards, releasing tension knots on his legs that he hadn’t even been aware had been there. She could do anything to him as long as those rough but oh, so talented fingers continued rubbing his muscles.

She reached his buttocks and he tensed just a bit when she poured oil all over the firm globes of flesh, and it trickled in the crack between them. She started kneading and fondling his flesh and Donnic was surprised at how pleasurable the feeling was; especially when her fingers strayed timidly in the crack and rubbed around the hidden entrance there. Donnic was not a man that had ever entertained thoughts about other men, and this was something that in his mind was irrevocably connected to gay sex. He wasn’t homophobic, far from it, some of his best friends, and even some fellow guardsmen, were in loving relationships with other men. He had never felt any curiosity though, and now he was shocked at how easily he accepted his hole being probed; maybe the fact that it was his own wife doing it was enough to make him more perceptive to things he would never have agreed to.

He briefly wondered how he had gotten in this position; being submissive under her rather than assuming a more dominant role as he had wanted. But Aveline was who she was, and he loved her. Her need to be in control was, after all, turning out to be quite enjoyable for him. With a sigh he decided to give in, and see where this would take them. Maybe he could follow Fenris’ advice the next time. Maybe this needn’t be a battle for dominance. Maybe they could take turns.

A finger gently probing his ass jerked him out of his thoughts, and he shot her a wide-eyed, incredulous look over his shoulder, his whole body tensing in surprise as that finger penetrated, shooting a small arrow of pain and discomfort through him. She was red-faced and nibbling on her lip, and their eyes briefly met, a hesitant, did-I-go-too-far look in her eyes and mild shock in his. She blushed even more and started to withdraw, but a nod from Donnic stopped her. The discomfort had eased. In fact it felt quite nice.

Taking courage form his affirmative nod, Aveline slipped her finger deeper, and crooked it downwards, just as Isabela had instructed her. She found the spot the pirate had told her about and tentatively, carefully, rubbed the tip of her finger over it. Her mouth fell open when she saw Donnic close his eyes let out a deep, pleasured moan. Did he...did he really enjoy that? She had half expected Isabela’s descriptions to be a ploy to embarrass her. She had half expected Donnic to be furious at even the insinuation...but it appeared as if her strapping, stoic guardsman was enjoying himself.

 _There is a hidden spot_ , Isabela had told her, _a gland, called the prostate. Massage it, and you can make him cum buckets...._

Her cheeks flamed up again. Maker, it seemed the slut hadn’t been lying.

Donnic fisted his hands in the bed sheets and tried desperately not to moan like a bitch in heat. Her fingers were working wonders. Two of them were buried deep inside him now, and their insistent rubbing over a very pleasurable spot was making him cross-eyes with incredible arousal. His cock was caught underneath him, swelling against his belly and he rocked his hips, desperately trying to ease the almost painful erection, rutting against the soft sheets.

Aveline’s breath was coming in short excited pants behind him, and he could feel her heated centre leaking its moisture over the back of his thighs; he dared not turn back and look at her, though. The last time he had, he had nearly lost it right there and then, seeing his normally reserved, blow-off-the-candles-before-we-do-this wife staring at her fingers disappearing into him with a lustful look on her face, while her other hand was busy rubbing between her own legs. The sight of her fingers drenched into the cream flowing from between her spread thighs had been enough to almost push him over the edge.

 _Beaten puppies. Sick children. Darkspawn. The Grand Cleric naked. Get a hold of yourself, guardsman_.

 He couldn’t resist letting out another ragged moan when she added a third finger, though.

How long had this been going on? Minutes, hours, days? Donnic couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his mind had long ago been fogged with incredible pleasure, that there was a fire building up inside that would probably turn him into ashes when it finally broke out, and that his wife was -something he would never have imagined- a minx.

Donnic had given up the effort not to make embarrassing needy sounds, and now he was moaning and panting and grunting like a pig, caught between pain, pleasure, and a climax that was building up from the soles of his feet to the tips of his hair, threatening to break his body in two. His cock was so hot, he was sure the sheets would have combusted into flames if a steady stream of precum hadn’t been soaking into them for the past minutes.

He instinctively started arching his hips upward, thrusting against her tormenting fingers, almost on all fours, supporting himself on a strong corded forearm, while his other hand went to work on his own shaft, pumping furiously. Aveline was panting, on her knees behind him, eyes dilated, her own hand working her clit furiously, the sight of her husband, usually so controlled and stoic, a trembling mass of quivering muscles and begging whimpers more erotic than she could ever have dreamt.

“Please...” he whimpered, “Aveline. Love. Please.”

She withdrew her fingers, struck by sudden inspiration, and ignoring his protest, helped him turn over and came face to face with the most impressive erection her already impressively sized husband had ever sported. She just froze there for a second, gazing at it with wide eyes and a slacked jaw, swollen to a massive size, almost purple with arousal, beads of pearly fluids gushing out, while Donnic’s fist pumped up and down. Did she dare? She had never done that before, but the sight was... mouth-watering. Too far gone to care what he thought of her anymore, and aroused beyond bearing, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips over the flared head of his erection, bringing her hand back into his hole to  massage him again, while her other hand slapped his away and wrapped around his twitching length.

The moan that left him was that of a nearly dying man, filling her with feminine pride. She started rubbing that spot again, and Donnic’s hips surged upward, burying his length in her throat, while he writhed and muttered and groaned and pleaded. His virile taste, his musky smell, his panting, ragged groans pushed her over the edge and she came just at the sight of his pleasure, her throat muscles clenching around him as her whole body tensed and then released in a glorious climax, a moan working itself from deep inside her lungs and reverberating against his cock.

It was all Donnic could take. He threw his head back and punched a fist into the wall behind his head as his body started convulsing, his cock swelled at twice its size and he started coming. Aveline kept her eyes locked on him, desperate to remember him like this, his throat trying to draw enough breath to scream his pleasure as endless jets of seed started shooting into her mouth. She did her best to swallow down as much as she could, but it was too much and in the end she released his shaft, watching in awe as he did literally come buckets of pearly white seed all over his stomach and chest. It seemed to be going on for ages, Donnic whimpering as one jet subsided to be immediately followed by another one, amid his moans and pleas and desperate shaking.

Multiple male orgasm. Wow. Isabela hadn’t been kidding.

She mentally made a note to thank the pirate later, before snuggling next to her handsome husband and cradling his still trembling frame to her, whispering softly in his ear to help him come down from his incredible high. When he finally calmed down enough to speak in coherent phrases, Donnic turned to her and captured her lips into a gentle, grateful kiss, sighing happily.

She rose on one elbow to look at him, a worried look in her eyes.

“I hope...I hope you haven’t lost your respect for me after this, husband,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Donnic tried to hold back but in the end he just started laughing.

“Don’t be absurd, wife,” he stroked her face. “I loved it. Didn’t  you see how much I loved it?” and  he gestured to the pools of seed that were covering his torso, a faint blush spreading.

She smiled and grabbed the discarded sheet to tenderly clean him up, while he looked on with a soft smile.

“Remind me to thank Isabela,” he muttered before falling back and sighing again. “Does she have any more tricks like that?”

 Aveline wrapped a hand against his still semi-erect length and pumped gently, making him gasp and then shoot her an interested look. Amazingly, he started getting aroused again.

“I’m sure she does,” Aveline whispered, blushing slightly before bending down to kiss and lick his slowly hardening shaft.

“And if she doesn’t, Fenris had some...helpful suggestions of his own,” Donnic sighed.

She raised an eyebrow at him, before an inquisitive smile curled her lips.

“It involved, you, a table, bending over, and your ass being spanked.” Donnic explained. “And fingers...and other things...in unusual places.”

Aveline pretended to be thinking about it for a second.

“Mine, or yours?”

“Mine,” he replied. “In yours.”

 

 

 

 


	6. Sebastian/Anders again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little belated Christmas-New Year present for my friend Amaya Redfern.
> 
> Whoo-hoo.
> 
> Sebastian and Anders smut.
> 
> Darling, enjoy!

 

Sebastian shot an irritated look to Garret Hawke, his best friend, and then another one, slightly more irked to his lover, Anders, who was sitting as far away from him as possible, and was busy examining his nails as if the answer to life’s mysteries could be found there.

  _Lover_...Sebastian scoffed. Anders hadn’t even spoken to him ever since that fated day, when an arrow in the ass had made them overcome their inhibitions, for one glorious night. Come morning, Hawke had found them together and teased them mercilessly. Anders had taken it good-naturedly, smiling shyly at Sebastian, until...Sebastian couldn’t be sure what it was that had caused his smile to falter and his shoulders to tense, but it must have been something about the Chantry and him asking Hawke to keep the relationship between him and Anders a secret.

 Anders hadn’t even come close to him ever since, they hadn’t even exchanged more than a few words. There were always people around, so Sebastian couldn’t very well grab the man and demand an answer: why was the healer avoiding him? Had he regretted what had happened? Was he trying to drive him insane?

 Pride had forbidden him from seeking out the mage in the middle of the night, pride that was slowly being eaten away by frustration. And now there they were, Hawke, Sebastian, Anders and Isabela, high up on Sundermount, having a picnic. A picnic. For the sake of the Maker, could Hawke be any more obvious than that?

 He watched again as the Rivaini pirate giggled on Hawke’s lap, and then leaned in to whisper something in his ear that made the tall, usually composed rogue shudder and his eyelids droop suggestively.  Annoyed, feeling more than just frustrated and confused, he huffed and rolled his eyes.

 “Get a room,” he shot at Hawke’s questioning look and then shot a sly look to Anders who was pretending not to notice any of them. Andraste’s grace, he looked as if there were a million other places the mage would rather be right now, the Circle dungeons included. However had Hawke convinced him to come along? The man seemed to detest the very sight of him.

 “Something bothering you, Sebby?” Hawke smiled sweetly at his friend, noticing with a small twinge of alarm that Anders seemed to flinch at the nickname.

 “Some sense of propriety would be much appreciated, Hawke,” Sebastian spat through his teeth. Just hearing the nickname Hawke was fond of using, the one Anders had unwittingly used that night...the Void take him, he wanted the mage back. He wanted what they had found for some brief time together back, the feeling of rightness, the feeling of being where he was meant to be, the sense of belonging. And the worst part was, he didn’t even know what he had done to lose all it. Things had been looking so bright, so full of promise between them that morning. The damned mage had even declared that he loved him. What had happened to destroy that?

 “Let them be,” Anders spoke up for the first time since they had arrived at the site, and Sebastian’s breath left him with a gasp at the sudden realization that Anders was speaking to him. Had the damned mage even spoken more than a few words to him directly those past few days? He turned to the blond mage with narrowed eyes, rearing for a fight, and then caught sight of the sadness in the man’s amber gaze.

 “They are in love, after all...” Anders said and for one brief moment, his eyes made contact with Sebastian’s; the archer was taken aback by the look of longing, of sadness, of dejection in the healer’s amber gaze, before the man again turned away.

 Isabela saved the awkward moment by scoffing. “Men...” she said with a contemptuous look on her face. “Why do you always confuse a good fuck with love?”

 It was Hawke’s turn to look hurt for just a minute, before he playfully agreed with his lover, knowing full well that Isabela was not one for whispered promises and sweet words. Love scared her, and he was determined not to give her any excuses to bolt.

 “Take it easy, Isa,” he chuckled. “No one’s dropping on their knee any time soon; and I haven’t asked you to bear my children or anything like that.”

 What would have caused any other woman to burst in tears and a fit of hysterics only served to calm the pirate down and she gave Hawke a sweet, grateful smile, before turning to the Prince again.

 “Have you asked anyone to bear your children lately, Choir Boy?”

 “Isabela...” Sebastian was tired of pretending and too frustrated to care. “We all know that you know. Drop the act.”

 Isabela quirked an eyebrow. “So you know that I know. But does you-know-who know that you know that I know that you two you-know-what?”

 “You lost me,” Sebastian smiled.

 “You-know-who knows that you know, Isabela,” Anders mumbled. “You-know-who knows that everybody knows. It wasn’t you-know-who that wanted to keep it a secret, after all. You-know-who was never ashamed of you-know-what.”

 Isabela’s eyes grew soft with sympathy. “Does you-know-who know that ...?”

 “Will you too stop this gibberish? I’m getting a headache!” Sebastian looked from one to the other with lightning shooting out of his eyes. “Yes, she knows we fucked, okay? Everybody knows. So stop the you-know-who and all that Maker-damned nonsense and fucking TALK to me!”

 Anders pushed off the tree he was leaning against, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes avoiding him still. His fists tightened next to his body that had gone rigidly still and then he turned away and started walking.

 “What’s there to say?” he tossed behind his back. “You just said it all. We fucked. You wanted to keep it a secret. It’s done. It’s over. Please go to the Rose next time.”

 Sebastian was left looking at his retreating, rigid back, feeling something shrivel and die inside him.  So that was all that their night had meant to the healer? Maker, he felt like his heart was being shredded to bits. Was that all? Just a fuck?

 “Aren’t you going after him?” Hawke interrupted his gloomy, dark thoughts.

 “Why should I? You heard him.” Sebastian sighed.

 “I heard him,” Hawke walked up to him. “Did you? Did you really _listen_? He thinks you are ashamed of him, Sebastian! He thought you requested to keep it a secret because he was just a fuck toy to you! Maker, man, did you just hear yourself speak? _She knows we fucked_...Maker, how stupid can you get?”

 Sebastian’s head whipped up and his eyes shot as wide as dinner plates as for the first time he run all the recent dialogues and his careless, stupid words over in his head, trying to hear them from Anders’ perspective. He swallowed once then shot a panicked look to Hawke.

 “Maker...” he lisped. “Maker, what have I done?”

 Hawke brought his face inches from his and jabbed a finger into his chest. Hard. Then he did it again.

 “Go. After. Him.”

 No one had to tell Sebastian twice.

* * *

Anders walked aimlessly through the thick trees until he reached a small clearing, an old gnarled oak sitting in the middle of it. He leaned against its trunk and looked up at its canopy, grateful for the shade.

He sighed deeply and let himself slump down until he was sitting on the soil, the hard bark of the old tree scraping at his back. The normal noises of the forest carried on after a few minutes of careful, expectant silence once the human had walked into the clearing; birds started chirping, squirrels in the branches above him started chattering and a woodpecker resumed his steady, soothing tapping.

 Anders sighed once again. He was alone, all alone. Nobody cared for his presence here. He could die, he could fade away and nobody but the trees and the birds would know, and they wouldn’t care. Nobody would care.

 He had never felt so alone, so desperately, resolutely alone in his whole life, not even when he had been locked in the Circle dungeons for a whole year, not during the times he run in the dark of the night, all alone in a strange, frightening world. This time it was worse, because for a few brief hours he had had the promise of togetherness, the promised of shared emotions; he had felt for the first time like he really belonged, something he hadn’t felt in the Tower, something he hadn’t felt  with the Wardens. Circumstances had made him belong there, here it had been choice. It had been love. Or, so he had thought.

 His eyes clouded. Who had he been kidding? Him, a mage, an apostate, a possessed man, find love? Who had he been kidding? Sebastian had his vows, his precious Chantry, his rigid views on magic and mages. A tear escaped him and run down his face. Damn him, if he had just wanted a roll in the hay, he should have said so. He wouldn’t have minded. But being offered soft, whispered words...being told that he was finally loved...only to find it was a lie. Maker, it was killing him.

 More tears escaped him and he swiped angrily at them, feeling pathetic, and utterly cheated, and so, so...unlovable. Justice was almost snickering inside him, saying _I told you so_ over and over again, making him want to jam his fingers in his ears until they reached his brain and drowned that annoying voice out.

 A squirrel came down one of the low branches and looked curiously at him with its little beady eyes, before rushing back up at the top of the tree and Anders, feeling ridiculously even more alone than before, buried his head in his hands, pulled his knees up to his chest and let himself cry like he hadn’t since he was a little boy who had abruptly realised, on the way to the Circle, that he was all alone in the world, all alone and unloved.

 He failed to notice Sebastian approaching him cautiously, stopping once to bring a hand to his heart that was simply breaking into pieces at the sight of the mage crying, and another time to wipe his own tears. He only realised the ex-prince was near him when a hand rested tenderly on his hair. He flinched, and jumped away in alarm only to see Sebastian, his eyes also filled with tears, staring at him.

 Anders’ cheeks flamed up and he turned away, mortified. Maker, could this get any worse? He had just been caught crying his eyes out, like a love-sick little girl. He wiped his face and tried to compose himself; perhaps he could find a way to at least salvage his dignity.

 “Anders...” Sebastian reached out him, placing his hand on the blond man’s shoulder, but once again Anders flinched away.

 “Save it. There’s no need...you don’t have to say anything, Sebastian. I...I understand.”

 The tall archer huffed, clearly frustrated.

 “You don’t understand a thing, you idiot!” he cried, and grasping Anders' forearm he forced him to turn to him, then pinned him against the tree with both hands holding down his shoulders. Anders tried to get away, but his efforts were feeble, to say the least; he was so broken hearted he didn't even feel the need to defend himself, to get away. He waited, breath held, heart bleeding, fists clenched; a little voice muttered dejectedly inside him that at least everything would be over now, the prince would tell him what a fool he had been and that would be it. He would be able to move on, after that. He would find a way to.

 So, when Sebastian’s mouth captured his in a tender, soothing kiss, a kiss that cajoled and coaxed and comforted, his eyes blew wide and his breath caught. Surprise and shock made him gasp, and the tall archer took full advantage, slipping his warm, _oh Maker_ , so warm tongue to tangle with Anders’. Then the taste, _Maker_ , that unforgettable, heady taste flooded his mouth and he moaned, his eyes closed again; he gave himself over to the kiss, let the other man’s tongue caress his mouth, let his own hands tangle into the short auburn curls at Sebastian’s nape, let his thighs fall open as an insistent knee pushed between them and Sebastian grinded against him.

 Lack of oxygen made them break the kiss, and they panted against each other, entwined, their foreheads resting together.

 Anders raised his head first, a little hopeful smile playing around his mouth.

“Not just a simple fuck, then?”

Sebastian drew in a deep shuddering breath and then left it a stream of profanities that made Anders chuckle and hide his head in the archer’s neck. He would never even have imagined Sebastian knew these words... _oh, my_ . He chuckled again.  _Some Chantry Priest_ .

 He interrupted the angry rogue’s tirade with a timid lick along the tendon of his neck and Sebastian exhaled in a deep, rumbling groan that vibrated his chest and set Anders aflame.

 “Maker, Anders...” Sebastian gripped the shorter man by his hair, his fingers sliding through the blond locks and guided his mouth to his neck, tilting his head to the side in silent invitation. “Andraste bless you, man, I missed you so much!”

 Anders pulled back, his gaze foggy by desire. “I missed you too. I thought...”

A finger rested on his lips, silencing him.

 “You thought, I thought...” Sebastian’s eyes followed his finger and settled on the mages’ full, kiss swollen lip. “We were both stupid. No more talking, okay?”

 Anders’ eyes fell on the other man’s lips as well, and a suggestive look hooded his eyes, before a smile curled his mouth.

 “What do you suggest we do instead?” he coyly asked.

 His only answer was a growl, and next thing he knew he had been pushed against the tree and Sebastian was fumbling with his armour, tossing the shiny pieces carelessly away. His mouth got invaded again, pleasure and desire mixing, drugging him, making his thought process muddled and hazy. He felt the feathered pauldrons slip from his shoulders, the robes part; he felt hands slide down his torso, lips caress his body, a needy voice moaning his name.

 He moaned Sebastian’s name and it seemed to push the rogue over the edge because he cursed, again, blasphemous uses of Andraste’s name Anders would never have imagined Sebastian was capable of uttering, before he ripped the last pieces of cloth separating them away and hard, unyielding flesh pressed closely to his own.

 Then his brain short circuited as Sebastian dropped to his knees, nuzzled the soft, pale skin at his hip lovingly for a few seconds before his mouth landed on Anders’ shaft, already standing proudly on attention. A slow, wickedly erotic lick from bottom to top had him lock eyes with the ex-prince’s cerulean gaze, before his own eyes closed on a choked gasp and he hissed, his head falling back and his neck cording, his hands holding Sebastian’s head steady as the tall archer took him in completely.

 Anders whimpered. He could do nothing else; the pleasure, Maker, the bliss, the feeling of Sebastian’s hot, wickedly talented mouth; hands squeezing and fondling and lips sucking, licking, laving, teasing; teeth nipping gently, a sinfully wicked tongue thoroughly exploring his flesh. Maker above, he wanted to last, he wanted to enjoy this, but it was beyond even his Warden stamina. He felt himself draw tight as a bow, lightning coursing down his spine, his heartbeat increasing to the point that he thought his heart would burst. He grunted to Sebastian to warn him that he was about to lose it, but the only response he got was even more rigorous attention, even more frantic, powerful suckling; he lost the battle with his fraying self-control, grunting softly as he emptied himself in Sebastian’s mouth. He was shocked the archer hadn’t pulled away, even more than shocked when he realised the ex-prince had actually...Maker.

 “Sebastian,” he breathed the rogue’s name, his knees still trembling with the force of his orgasm, and the damned Chantry priest actually smiled up to him, a bad-boy, naughty, absolutely devious smile before he rose up again and claimed his mouth in a blistering kiss, sharing the taste of Anders’ own seed with him.

 “I said no talking, Anders, didn't I?” the rogue growled against his mouth and Anders’ blood fired up at the show of dominance,  at the incredibly sensual timbre of that sinful voice, the thick Starkhaven burr made even thicker by arousal.

 Anders didn't even have a chance to reply before he was turned around and Sebastian’s chest pressed against his back. A mouth rested next to his ear, the hot breath sending chills down his torso; Sebastian’s arms wrapped around his waist, and a rough voice whispered in his ear.

 

“Brace yourself against the tree.”

 

Anders obeyed. He could do nothing else; he was completely under the Prince’s control, the hot sensuality in his touch, the rough, lust-ridden intensity in his voice. He put both his arms forward, bracing himself against the sturdy, gnarled bark of the tree; the posture put him in the perfect position for the rogue, his back bent, his ass begging for attention, legs spread slightly apart, his head thrown submissively forward.

 “Good boy,” Sebastian crooned next to his ear, and Anders shivered and moaned, surrendering completely, his whole body racked by tremors, lust and desire and the burning need to give himself to the man behind him making his body hum.

Hands roamed from his taut shoulders down  to his chest, straying briefly to tweak and torment the flat disks of his nipples, drawing hissed breaths and gasp from the mage, then running down his belly, over his slim, boyish hips, down to his thighs then up over his buttocks and the sweat-slicked muscles of his back. Anders was incoherent with need by now, almost ready to beg, whimpering his need to the tall archer behind him.

“Sebastian, please,” he moaned and a low chuckle answered him.

“Please what, Anders?”

“You know what!” the mage shot him a peeved look over his shoulder, then pushed backwards towards the erection straining against his backside.

“Indeed, I know,” Sebastian chuckled, his hand petting the round, pert globes of flesh so freely offered by the mage, holding him in place with an arm wrapped around his torso. “But I want to hear it, Anders. Say it.”

"Damn you!” Anders closed his eyes. “Okay. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, okay?”

 Both of Sebastian’s arms wrapped around Ander’s torso and his head came to rest on his back, their bodies perfectly flushed together.

 “Not that, you idiot,” he muttered. “Say you love me.”

 Anders moaned, a deep tortured sound, his heart nearly bursting with love and joy and amazing happiness. “Maker, yes, Sebastian!” he cried and then his voice dropped to a sweet, husky murmur. “I love you, you damned arrogant...”

 “Shut up,” Sebastian’s voice interrupted and a mouth trailed a path of molten kisses down his spine. “I love you too. Shut up.”

 His mouth had come to the small of Anders’ back by then and any answer the mage might have had was lost as that hot, blistering mouth trailed even lower, both hands now coming to his ass to separate the twin globes and expose the puckered opening to that roaming tongue. Sebastian playfully bit down on one of the mages buttocks before boldly running his tongue over that little opening, once, then twice, then concentrating on it until Anders was whimpering and pleading once again.

 He went perfectly still when once thick, long finger penetrated, fought against the intense pleasure and the slight discomfort, silently begged for more, thrusting his hips backwards, moaning Sebastian’s name. The archer complied and slipped another saliva-slicked finger inside, praising Anders, crooning to him, cajoling him to relax. But Anders couldn’t relax, his whole body was tensed to the point of breaking with desire and anticipation and he begged, he actually broke down and begged for the rogue to take him, pleaded that he couldn’t take any more teasing.

 With a growl, Sebastian complied to the mage’s breathless, panting pleas, and taking himself in hand, he aimed at the opening that he had been tormenting, and pushed inside, in one long, slow thrust. Anders howled, both pain and pleasure ripping through his body and Sebastian grunted at the tight, hot fit. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Sebastian giving Anders time to get used to him, both of them marvelling at the feeling of completeness, before the tall ex-prince erupted into movement, shafting the mage with long, almost brutal strokes, that lifted him up on his toes and shook the tree he was bracing against.

 Anders cried out with each thrust and Sebastian grunted softly, trying to hold on to his control and his sanity, as waves of pleasure washed over his body every time the mage’s hot depths accepted him. He could already see white lights flashing behind his closed eyelids and knew that when the end came, the pleasure would be enough to make him black out. Anders had taken one of his hands off the tree, throwing their combined weight on his other corded forearm, while he pumped his own erection to the same rhythm the archer was pounding inside him.

 Sebastian decided that wouldn’t do.

 He slapped Anders' hand away and increased the strength and tempo of his thrusts, forcing choked gasps and moans out of the mage’s mouth, throwing him forward until he was forced to brace himself with both arms again. Then he wrapped his own body around him, resting his head on the crook of Anders' neck, licking and nibbling, while both his arms snaked around the healer’s slim, corded torso and attacked his raging erection.

 Anders sighed, moaned, and went lax. He was surrounded by Sebastian, his body, his hands, his scent, his breath panting against his neck. Surrounded and invaded, branded, forever taken. The thought that he had never been claimed more completely, never been accepted more completely fleeted in his brain and was the emotional trigger that set off one of the most spectacular, most blissful orgasms he had ever experienced in his life. He drew one, two, then three convulsive breaths and then he _exploded_. There was no other word to describe it. He exploded like a supernova, his body shattering, his heart missing more than a few beats.

 He vaguely felt Sebastian stiffen behind him and roar his own satisfaction to the heavens, the scalding heat of his release flooding him while Anders’ body thrashed and shook in the throes of his pleasure. He must have shouted Sebastian’s name before he fell to his knees, Sebastian following him, still embracing him with bone-breaking strength, still whimpering by the side of his neck, but at some point he must have blacked out.

 The slowly both made back to themselves with feelings of awe making them silent and introspective. Sebastian was nuzzling Anders neck, his hands petting the other man’s chest, almost absent-mindedly, almost as in a daze. Anders' gaze was fixed to the tree bark in front of him, to the seed that he had sprayed there, and irrationally, stupidly, that was the first thing he commented on.

 “We made a mess,” he said, and then bit his lip. _Of the all the stupid things to say..._

"It’s okay,” Sebastian sighed, a deep sound of contentment that made Anders relax against him, closing his eyes and turning his head to nuzzle in the rogue’s sweat slicked auburn hair. “Nobody here but us and the trees.”

 Anders chuckled at that. “You are forgetting the squirrels. One of the little buggers was looking at me before you came. He looked interested.”

 “Well, tell him you’re taken.” Sebastian laughed, and reached for a discarded piece of underclothes to clean himself and Anders up with.

 “I think he might have realised that on his own,” Anders smiled. He then turned to look at the ex-prince and his smile faltered a bit. “Am I though? Really?”

 “How much more ‘taken’ can you possible get?” Sebastian smiled and watched in rising panic as the smile on Anders’ face slowly dimmed.

 “Is it just about the sex, Sebastian? I need to know.”

Another stream of inventive curses concerning Andraste, the Maker and certain activities between them that should have been left private escaped Sebastian at that, the anger and vehemence in his voice scaring the birds in the tree away again. Anders looked at him with huge eyes as he swore and cursed, his ears going pink.  _Wow_ .  _Some of these are...imaginative_ .

Then he noticed that Sebastian was near tears as he swore, throwing sentences like  _I can’t believe you would ask me that_ or  _how stupid can you get_ or even better  _I fucking love you, you moron_ , between the blasphemous uses of Andraste’s various body parts.

Smiling, his heart full to bursting, Anders cut through the tirade with a kiss.

Up ahead in the tree, the squirrels looked down and then to each other, before they started chattering.

 

 

 


	7. Female Hawke,Fenris and Zevran

“Welcome to Antiva!” A cheerful voice greeted them as soon as they set foot on the chaotic harbour, amid hordes of people milling about, carting goods and carrying conversations in colourful, exotic Antivan, with wild, exuberant gestures punctuating each word.

Fenris instinctively slipped his body in front of Hawke, his urge to protect her as strong as always, before the owner of the rich, accented voice appeared in front of them. His lip curled in mild dislike.

Zevran.

The damned assassin. They had helped him escape a group of Crows that had been hunting him, a few years ago. The damned assassin had stayed on in Kirkwall ‘for a few days’ as he had said, that had quickly turned into weeks, even following them on some of their quests and hitting on everything on two legs, be it male or female. He didn't like the man, he had instantly disliked him, especially since he had had the audacity to preposition his Hawke; and with him standing right there, beside her. The fact that Hawke had looked mildly interested hadn’t helped either. To add insult to injury, Zevran had shamelessly flirted with him as well, and even had had the cheek to suggest an ‘Antivan sandwich’.

He’d had no idea how close to a ripped out heart that had gotten him.

Fenris huffed as Hawke embraced Zevran and kissed him on the cheek. The thrice cursed assassin had offered them sanctuary in Antiva after the whole mess in Kirkwall, and weary by being hunted down like dogs, they had accepted. Everybody else, Varric, Aveline and her husband, even Merrill, had long ago left them, each heading to their own destination: Varric back to Kirkwall, Aveline to Orlais and Merrill only the Maker knew where. Isabela had graciously agreed to ferry them to Antiva, where Zevran, now being a Master Crow, could offer them protection.

Fenris had protested, knowing that the Crow would make his everyday breathing, living hell, but in the end he had not been able to provide any alternatives and practicality had won.

The assassins’ amber gaze settled on the elven warrior, a small smirk playing on his mouth.

“Fenris, my delicious friend,” Zevran drawled, while his eyes gave Fenris a thorough once over,  “ I see you have lost weight. Hawke has been ....exercising you vigorously, si?”

Fenris just growled.

This was going to be torture.

* * *

Zevran stretched and opened one of the French doors leading to his balcony. Such a glorious summer morning! The sun was already turning the leaves of his olive trees a silvery white, and he could see his workers between the rows of vines on his vineyard, tending to the ripening grapes. There was something sinfully languid about mornings like this, a feeling that doing anything else than basking in the sun with a glass of wine would be a crime, an affront to the scenery that Antiva so graciously provided.

He leaned over the balcony rail and lazily soaked up the early morning sun, listening to the chirping of birds in the distance, perfectly content. Well, no. Not perfectly, if he was being honest with himself. Ever since Hawke and Fenris had arrived to his estate he had felt...restless.

Brasca, they were both so beautiful, so...so alluring. And completely devoted to each other, completely besotted with one another. He had tried, Maker he had tried, he so wanted a taste of them both; not just sexually. He just wanted to be included into that easy familiarity, that open affection between them. He had a suspicion sharing their bed would be a life altering experience; the only thing was, Fenris didn't share.

Damn him.

A little breathless moan on his right snapped him right out of his heated thoughts and he moved to the corner of his balcony. The doors to Fenris and Hawke’s room was slightly ajar and if he leaned just so, he had a clear view into their bedroom.

Biting his lip, he watched, his breath starting to pant, as that damned masterpiece of an elf stood next to the bed, his glorious, lyrium adorned body held tensely still; Hawke, on her knees in front of him was looking up to him with a heated, adoring look as she took him deep, deep into her throat, one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and the other squeezing his ass.

Zevran started drooling.

Maker, they were so beautiful together, so absolutely, completely hot. They moved together like dancers; easily, familiarly, intimately. Fenris was moaning now, as she continued to suck him, and both his hands were tangled into her midnight hair, while his head had fallen behind in bliss.

Zevran watched, enthralled as her mouth surrounded him, taking him deep and then withdrawing to twirl a sinfully pink tongue around the swollen mushroom like head of the other elf’s erection, and then take him down to the root again. Fenris’ legs were visibly shaking, and he stretched a hand out to support himself on the wooden beam of the bed’s posts. Zevran’s own hand trailed down his belly, to where his own erection, modest compared to that of the warrior, was already tenting his soft linen breeches. He dipped a hand in his smallclothes and took himself in hand, stroking to the same rhythm that Hawke was caressing the other elf’s member with her mouth. He tried to imagine how hot, how incredibly moist her mouth probably was, and had to bring a hand up to his mouth and bite hard to stifle a moan.

Fenris seemed to be having no such inhibitions, leaving one tortured moan after the other in his delicious, chocolate on gravel voice, until with a roar, he came hard, his buttocks tensing, his body thrusting in time with her sucking mouth. Zevran moaned himself, and came all over his hand and stomach, his eyes rolling back in frustrated pleasure.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Hawke lick her lips and smile coyly up to him, and Fenris’ muscles tense once again. As she shrieked when he picked her up and threw her on the bed, Zevran was left there, staring at the spot they had just vacated, listening to Hawke’s rugged breaths turn to moans and then screams.

Maker, he had to have them both. He just had to!

* * *

Fenris was just turning the corner of the corridor leading to the kitchens, having been sent down by a rather peckish Hawke to get her, something, _anything_ as she had said, to eat. He smiled to himself, thinking of what he had been doing to make her so hungry. Zevran was right. They had both started losing weight from the rather intense...exercise.

He, no, they, could not help it. Now that the stress of being hunted had lifted, they had found themselves at it more times than he could count. There had been little time to..indulge while the whole city was crumbling to hell around them, and little privacy on board Isabela’s ship. But now...now they were making up for lost time. Repeatedly.

He was just about to open the door to the kitchen, when he heard a slight rustle and a heated whisper on his left. He tensed, and drew the dagger he always carried with him, concealed in his boot, and carefully rounded the corner of the corridor leading to the pantry to investigate.

What he saw made him nearly drop the dagger; his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

Zevran was locked in a heated embrace with not one, but two of his Crows, one female, one male. Armour and weapons littered the floor, and Fenris irrationally wondered ‘how many weapons do they each carry?’ before a moan made his attention snap back to the scene in front of him. He recovered from his shock quickly enough to hide behind the wall, and rested his head against the wall; trying to erase the strangely arousing images playing in his head, but the moans, now increasing in volume and urgency, didn't let him.

Zevran had been sandwiched between his two lovers, the woman draped all over his front like a vine, while the man was holding on to his hips and thrusting two of his fingers inside him.

Fenris’ eyes opened in confusion and curiosity. But...but that...that hurt. He could remember the burning pain and the shame when that had once been done to him, how could Zevran, how could _anyone_ enjoy that?

Hawke had hinted at it a few times, and he had been mortified. Him, cause pain to his Hawke? That thing _hurt_!

He heard Zevran groaning, heated Antivan leaving his mouth in a ragged pant, and his breeches instantly shrunk a couple of sizes. Maker, but he liked hearing that elf speak in that language, it was so...so flowing, so silky and musical. He blushed, realising exactly what he had admitted to his own self, and then, unable to resist, he peeked around the corner.

Zevran was on his knees and hands, the woman writhing underneath him, and the man thrusting inside him in a frenzied, blinding rhythm. He watched as Zevran turned over his shoulder to exchange an open mouthed, sizzling kiss with the man, just before he bent his blond head to the woman and muffled her scream with a heated, devouring kiss.

Fenris watched, his breath quickening as they moved together, sweat glistening on their tangled bodies to the moonlight coming through one of the windows, their moans and screams echoing around him, making his blood run hot and bubbly in his veins.

He drew his eyes away. His brain that was telling him he had no business watching this battling with his baser instincts that were ordering him to join in, and leaned his head against the cool wall, trying to catch his breath.  Hawke, naked on the bed came unbidden to his mind and he took off like a flash, reaching their room  in record time; he barged in, and almost leapt on the bed.

“What?” Hawke managed to ask, before she found herself turned on her stomach and pulled up to all fours. “Where’s my food?”

A sudden powerful thrust, his staff surging inside her to fill her to overstretching, made her eyes bulge and all thought of food were forgotten in their mutual hunger.

* * *

When Hawke had asked him later what had brought on his...attack, he had been strangely awkward, and had avoided answering her, which she had found strange, but paid no more attention to.

He had been strangely quiet since then, though, and she was now suspecting there was something troubling him.  She had caught him lost in thought more times than she could count, and other times he had been gazing at her with a look on his face she just couldn’t place; the fact that he had blushed when she had asked him what he had been thinking made the whole situation even more alarming.

She entered their room, hot and sweaty from her afternoon training session, only to find him leaned against the rail of the balcony, looking intently at something going on below. She crept up to him, and looked over his shoulder.

The gasp that escaped her made him jump almost a foot in the air and with mounting amusement she noticed that his breeches were hanging open and he had one hand wrapped around his length.

He stared at her, eyes wide and his cheeks beetroot red, while she looked from his face, to his hand, to Zevran having one of his usual trysts down below with one of his servants.

A smile spread on her face.

“Fenris?” she asked. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

His eyes fell and his shoulders-even his ears- drooped.

“Maker!” he breathed, mortified he had been caught red-handed, staring at another man while he was busy getting sucked dry by one of his  servants. “It’s not what it looks like, Hawke, honestly!”

Her cheeky grin spread even wider and she licked her lips as she too was drawn to the sight underneath. Maker, Zevran was hot. She had thought so when she had first met him, and she thought so even more so now. 

“Let me see...” she moaned, one hand trailing down her stomach to where she was already drenching her smalls and the other wrapping around Fenris’ flagging erection. “It looks like you are getting...hot, at the sight of one delicious elf. Doesn’t it?”

Fenris shuddered as her hand expertly pumped him, just the way he liked  it, hard and fast, squeezing him like a vice, and moaned helplessly.

“I don’t like men,” he protested weakly, but she just smiled at him, her eyes fogged as well, and kissed him.

“I don’t think less of you, you don’t have to lie,” she sweetly cooed his ear. “In fact,” and she tugged on him even faster, making him grip the rail with both hands, “I think it’s rather hot.”

Fenris swallowed hard, trying to keep from shouting out in both pleasure and relief, but the next words she uttered pushed him right over the edge, and he came like a fountain, spraying the rail with his seed.

“Shall I invite him to join us, or shall you?”

* * *

Zevran chuckled to himself as he approached the huge bathing chamber he’d had a dwarven  master mason built in his mansion a few winters ago. Fenris and Hawke had fallen in love with it, and seemed to spend at least a few hours a day in there; and that was where they had invited him to join them. The invitation had been innocent enough on appearance, Hawke casually telling him that the huge sunken bathtub was big enough for them all and that they wouldn’t want to hog the room, keeping him from enjoying it. On the surface, yes it had been innocent, and polite. But the cheeky grin on Hawke’s face and the glint in her eyes, not to mention Fenris’ awkwardness, bespoke of different intentions.

His plan had worked. He had intentionally let the other elf ‘catch’ him in various compromising positions, with various partners, knowing that if that didn't spark his interest, nothing would. He had enjoyed himself immensely, the knowledge that Fenris was watching making the pleasure of these encounters even more acute, the naughtiness even greater. By the way the warrior had been avoiding his eyes all these past days while they were having dinner, he had known his plan had started working. Just last afternoon though, he caught a glimpse of them both on the balcony watching him, and he just knew that once Hawke was involved, things would either stop completely or progress much, much more.

Almost trembling with anticipation he paused in front of the door and knocked, trying to hide his excitement. A coy voice answered him and he stepped into the room, the air think with vapours and sinfully exotic fragrances; citrus oil and lavender, and various either oils.

“Am I intruding?” he asked, nearly holding his breath, as he noticed that Fenris’ head snapped up from the rim of the pool and his shoulders tensed.

Hawke shot a look to Fenris, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Hawke turned to him with a bright smile and uttered just two words.

He nearly obeyed the  second one on the spot.

“Zevran,” she had said, her voice breathless. “Come.”

* * *

_Now, the only problem_ , Zevran thought as he casually disrobed and joined them in the hot water, _is to make that damned elf loosen up a bit_.

He glanced at Fenris out of the corner of his eye, at how tensely he was holding himself.  He then looked at Hawke, taking in the look of heated interest she was sending him, and grinned. _Well,_ he thought, _no problem there._

He nodded to Hawke and grabbed a washcloth from the rack behind him. She nodded right back, understanding his intention without trouble and, taking one of the bars of soap, she moved towards her lover.

“Fenris,” she cajoled him, her soft voice gaining his attention, “Come. Let us wash your back.”

Fenris took a deep breath and then turned his back to them both, grateful for the chance to hide his expression from Zevran. He was terrified; showing his markings to the rogue for the first time had him as skittish as a virgin. He was terrified that the other man would be put off by them, or even worse, _like_ them.

His breath left him in a whoosh as he felt two pairs of hands carefully lather up his back, and a soft washcloth rubbing tenderly over the tensed muscles, down his shoulders and his spine, all the way down to the dip of his waist.

“Do they hurt, my friend?” Zevran’s voice echoed next to his ear and he had to suppress a shudder at the delicious Antivan accent, thicker now with arousal.

“No. Not always. Not a lot,” he answered, his own voice chopped. “Don’t mind them.”

A tongue slid down one of his lines. Was it Zevran or Hawke? He didn't want to know, he didn't care to know. A hand wrapped around his waist, and he moaned, watching Hawke’s lithe fingers lather up his chest, paying special attention to the hard little point of his nipples.

He leaned back, and came across a hard, chiselled chest; Zevran. He turned his head to look at the other man, meeting the assassin’s eyes for the first time. The amber had turned to liquid fire, and he could not resist; with a groan, he let the other man kiss him, a wet, blistering hot kiss, while Hawke sighed in approval.

“Fenris...” Zevran moaned into the other man’s sinfully wicked mouth, taking in his delicious taste. “Tell me, amante, what do you want? Tell me what you need...”

Fenris pulled back and looked at both Hawke and Zevran, his eyes clouded by lust.

“I want you to teach me...” he muttered, his deep, hoarse voice sending shivers up both their spines. “I want to...Hawke. I’m afraid of hurting her.”

Zevran shot Hawke a perplexed look and she chuckled, and then proceeded to show him rather than explain what her lover meant; she half-climbed out of the tub and laid on her stomach, exposing her luscious behind to them both.

“Ah, the back door **,** ” he chuckled. “The gateway to heaven itself, my friend. Come. I’ll show you,” he cupped Fenris face, and captured his lips in another kiss, before his voice dropped to a husky, promising murmur.  “And then, I’ll _show_ you.”

Fenris grasped his forearm. “No. I can’t... I can’t take another man having her. Tell me what to do...” he faltered, feeling a pang of guilt at the other elf’s crestfallen face. “Zevran, please.”

Zevran smiled. “I was hoping to have you both, my friend. But alas, you are a possessive bastard, aren’t you?”

Fenris smirked, mollified with how quickly the assassin had backed off, respecting his limits.

“You can touch. That’s all.”

Zevran smiled to himself. That left quite a big window of interpretation, after all.

* * *

Fenris felt weird, as if he was in a dream, as he watched, Zevran get a vial of oil from the stand next to the tub, and turned to him with a slight smile.

“Any scent you prefer?”

He nodded in the negative, not able to make his throat work enough to reply.

Zevran returned to him and pulled his hand up to his mouth, where he kissed the palm and then, his eyes never leaving Fenris, he sucked one finger into his mouth. He watched, like in a daze, the assassin’s full, pouty lips glide from the base of his middle finger to the tip, and then his tongue come out and flick against the pad of his digit; it felt like he was suckling him somewhere much more intimately, and his cock sprang to attention, twitching with want. Zevran’s glowing amber eyes were at half mast, his eyelashes shading the brilliant colour, while his mouth glided back down to the base of his finger.

Just when he was ready to plead for this torturous teasing to stop, Zevran moved his hand towards Hawke, and parting her buttocks with his hands, motioned for Fenris to touch the pink star of her forbidden opening.

Fenris tentatively obeyed, circling the opening with his saliva-slicked finger, before he pushed just the tip inside; Hawke tensed and moaned, and he pulled back, terrified he was hurting her. Zevran moved closer, wrapping one hand around his waist, and leaning in to suckle the tender skin at the nape of his neck, and then nuzzled under his delicate ear. Fenris shuddered and his hips rocked forward, bucking against air when the assassin’s tongue carefully traced the pointed tip. _Trust another elf to know exactly what place to lick and exactly what pressure to apply to drive him mad_ , he thought to himself, before he felt his hand pulled forward again, and his fingers back  on Hawke’s pert behind.

“Do not be afraid, amico,” Zevran crooned into his ear. “It hurts a little at first, but she will love it.”

He then swatted Hawke’s behind, making her yelp, and thrust her ass towards them. “Won't you, my lovely Hawke?”

“Yesss,” she hissed, moaned Fenris name and encouraged, Zevran’s hand guiding him, he slipped his finger into her incredibly hot opening again, this time pushing past the first knuckle, until his entire digit was embedded in her. She moaned and thrust backwards and Zevran whispered darkly against his ear.

“Add another one, my lovely warrior,” and he drizzled oil onto Fenris’ fingers. “Gently.”

She took the second one without difficulty, moaning and sighing. Both elves could see her pink, glistening womanhood leaking her excitement underneath the opening Fenris had claimed and Fenris pushed Zevran’s head towards her, watching in trance as the rogue snuck out his tongue to taste her.

Fenris bit down on his lip to stop himself from moaning like a bitch in heat at the sight; he was thrusting his fingers inside her tight, tight passage, the hot flesh griping him like a vice. Underneath, Zevran was thrusting his tongue into her syrupy depths, gathering up the juices that were escaping her in a stream. Hawke was panting, her hips moving backwards against them both, her pleading voce asking, demanding, beseeching for more.

He added another finger, and shrieked his name. Zevran pulled back to see, and he smiled approvingly to Fenris. Returning to run his tongue from her stretched opening, caressing Fenris’ fingers as well, to the top of her slit, he then focused on Fenris, and the raging erection that was leaking liberally. Fenris moaned as the elf talented mouth closed around him and, unable to resist, he thrust until he found himself swallowed down to the root.

“Maker,” he gasped.

The elf chuckled around his shaft, and Fenris nearly came at the spot at the vibrations that caressed his length like a multitude of fingers. But the caress was over before he had the chance to really appreciate it, and now Zevran was dripping oil over his palm and generously coating his staff with it.

Fenris’ breath caught, his muscles tensed as he watched Zevran grip his cock and guide it against Hawke’s puckered opening; the head rested against it, and the assassin put one hand on the small of the warrior’s back and coaxed him gently  forward.

“Easy,” Zevran’s silky Antivan accent caressed both their heated nerves, calming them down. “It’s okay, Hawke. Just relax for him.”

Fenris at the scream that left her as soon as the head of his erection started slipping inside her dark, forbidden entrance.

“Does it hurt, love?” he gritted, his gravelly voice thick with desire, struggling to stay still, knowing that as much as he wanted to do this, as much as he wanted to just thrust inside her to the hilt, he would stop at the first sign of her showing discomfort. He might die of frustration, but he would.

Hawke just moaned his name and pushed backwards, making the head slip a bit further inside her. She was biting hard on her lip, to stop herself from screaming at the discomfort and the searing, agonising pleasure the painful entry was causing her. Zevran had knelt down beside her, running his talented hands all over her body, soothing her and enflaming her at the same time, stroking her hair, petting her heaving chest and her breast that were swaying gently with the force of her tremors.

“Relax for him, Hawke,” his voice crooned to her. “I promise you, it’s going to be so good.”

Eyes fogged with both pleasure and pain met his and he couldn’t resist. He bent his head to her and captured her lips, kissing her with abandon. Behind her, Fenris growled and pushed harder inside her, gaining a few more inches. She screamed into Zevran’s mouth ; pain and pleasure, it seared her, held her immobile as he worked his cock inside her, inch by inch.

Fenris had stilled again at the sound of her muffled scream and Zevran tore his mouth away from Hawke’s to offer his encouragement; he noticed at first sight the warrior was at the end of his patience, losing the fight to control himself more and more with every ticking minute.

“How does she feel, my friend?” Zevran slid his hand down the trembling, sweat-slicked muscles of Hawke’s back. “She must be tight, and hot.” A growl, and Fenris throwing his head back, his neck muscles bulging with the tension answered him. “She can take you, Fenris, don’t be afraid. She will take you and scream with pleasure. Won’t you, my Hawke?”.

Zevran once again returned to Fenris and kissed his panting mouth, then turned to Hawke and held her flesh apart, whispering encouragement, dark, naughty words that made her need for the sexual pain flare higher, hotter. His voice was approving, tender.

“It’s okay, Hawke,” he soothed her as she bucked, her eyes tearing from the pain, though she didn’t want it to stop. She never wanted it to stop. “Don’t fight it, my beauty,” he urged. “His cock is thick, my sweet, but not too thick. You can take it.” He pulled her flesh apart further, easing the shocking pain as Fenris continued to tunnel inside her.

A scream, a groan and a whispered, breathless bravo all echoed around the room as finally, with one long, steady stroke Fenris’ cock disappeared inside her.

“Hawke. Love.  Are you alright?” Fenris’ voice was strained, guttural as he held himself absolutely, completely still, although every cell in his body screamed at him to take her hard. Her flesh was pulsing around him, sending arrows of pleasure from the tips of his ears down to his toes. Still, he help himself immobile, giving her time to adjust.

She whimpered, caught between searing pain and agonizing pleasure. The sensation of being so wickedly dominated, so absolutely taken, the dark, forbidden erotism of the act, the stretching of her flesh, his fiery hot length embedded in her. It was more than she could take, more she had ever thought she could take, but she never wanted it to end.

“More. More!” she pleaded, whimpered, cried out for him, and pushed her ass backwards, rolled her hips, desperate for movement. Her breath caught as he drew back and then thrust back inside her, and his name again left her in a scream.

“Give her more, Fenris,” Zevran’s breathless voice whispered next to his ear, while his hand petted his back, his hips, his ass. “She wants it. Give her more.”

She chanted both their names as she felt each inch slip into her ass once more. Deliberately, slowly. Killing her with pleasure, with pain, with possession. The sensations mixed and blend into a feeling that was making her whole body tremble, blaze, threaten to shatter.

She screamed again. She couldn’t help it as he started slowly and carefully retracting and then forcing himself inside her in long, smooth strokes. The pleasure whipped through her, her juices running from her and soaking her down to her knees. He drew her back against his chest and the new position made her even tighter, even more responsive to the slow thrusts powering inside her.

Fenris threw his head back and groaned, then cursed in Arcanum before his hands gripped on her hips and he set up a steady rhythm, pulling nearly all the way out before he once again tunnelled inside her. She could feel her orgasm building in her very womb and she cried out, knowing that when it hit it would make her body fly into space, but frantic to get there, to fly off into that free fall of sensation.

“Zevran, help me,” she whispered desperately, the fingers of one hand going to her centre, circling her swollen clit as she undulated against Fenris.

The assassin slipped to his knees in front of her, spreading her legs further, his head lowering to her swollen clit as Fenris began to thrust in and out of her ass once again. Their half reclining position allowed the warrior to pull his cock free by several inches before powering it home again, rocking her body with the streaking pleasure as Zevran’s suckling mouth locked onto her clit.

It didn’t take long before the beginnings of the first explosive orgasm ripped through Hawke’s body. She tightened, crying out, fighting for balance when Fenris lifted his hands and gripped her neck with his teeth and as the first explosion tore through her.

It was just the first one of many to come.

Fenris stilled as he felt her contract, felt her whole body shatter, and moaned at the amazing, mind-shattering pressure. He gave her just enough time to get over the worst of her peak, and then started pumping inside her again, his breath sawing in his lungs. Maker, the need to take her hard and fast was gnawing at his very sanity, but he never wanted this to end. So, body corded and wound up like a coiled spring, his lips bloodied by his own teeth, he continued at the same measured, agonizing pace, savouring the tight clasp of her body, her moans and pleas.

Her head rolled back onto Fenris shoulder, and they shared a wet, fervent kiss, before the dual sensation of a  mouth on her dripping centre and his fiery length ravaging her behind threw her into another mind shattering orgasm. “Maker, Zevran, make him fuck me hard before I die!” she screamed as the overwhelming pleasure rose and crested again, and again, and once again, rolling now in continuous waves over her spasming body.

Just her plea was enough to make the tenuous grasp Fenris had on his control snap; he started shafting her with brutal force, taking her like a wild storm. The force of his thrusts pushed her into Zevran’s mouth and the blond assassin suckled her relentlessly and then ruthlessly shoved two fingers into her, making her keen. The both took her like this together, Fenris’ shaft bruising her ass, Zevran’s mouth and fingers tormenting her front, his other hand pumping his own erection desperately. Their groans blended with her feminine cries, their bodies glistening with sweat and both of them focused on her and her pleasure until she was thrown into an orgasm so explosive, so brutal in its violence, that she lost what little was left of her breath, lost her control and the link to her sanity. She whipped between them and then surrendered, blanking out for an instance, before Fenris groaned and begun spurting his seed inside her, hurtling her over the edge again. Zevran pulled away from her and came to his knees, his mouth capturing hers as he too came against her stomach with a throaty moan.

 They all tumbled back into the lukewarm water together, trying to recover from the unbearable satisfaction that was coursing through them all, until Fenris opened just one of his eyes and looked at the blond elf that was panting, head and shoulders resting against the opposite die of the huge tub.

“You put your fingers inside her,” his voice rang with a slight undertone of menace.

“You said I could touch her, si?” Zevran smirked. “You didn't say how. Or where. ”

Hawke drew Fenris' head down for a kiss. “Oh, Fenris,” she said, smiling. “Let him. He’s so good.”

“Yes, Fenris,” the assassin’s accented voice sent a shiver up Fenris’ spine. “ _Let me_.”

Fenris shivered. He had the feeling he wasn’t talking about touching Hawke. Was he?

 

* * *

That night, Zevran shared their bed. They all slept together, one warm pile of tangled limbs and shared embraces, exhausted and sated.

Fenris was awaken at some point in the wee hours of the morning, to find Hawke on her knees between Zevran’s spread legs, sucking him with her talented mouth. The elf was writhing on the bed, his hands behind his head, his lithe body corded with tension and heated, whispered Antivan escaping him in small whimpers.

 He locked eyes with Fenris and smiled, then raised his hands in the air. “I’m not touching her, my friend,” he snickered, and Fenris laughed against his will.

Hawke raised her eyes to her lover with a cheeky grin, and then slid her tongue sinfully along Zevran’s length. Her lover’s eyes darkened with lust, the sight of her pleasuring another man more erotic than he could ever had imagined.

In a flash, he was on his knees next to her, and dragged her up by her hips, sharing a heated kiss with her, just before he spread her legs with his hand and pushed her down on Zevran’s erection, impaling her down on the other man’s length.

He then stood on the side on his knees, stroking himself at the sight of Hawke riding Zevran to oblivion.

* * *

They slept some more after that, until he was once again awakened by the alien feeling of hands playing with his ass, and Hawke’s mouth on his erection. He tensed for just a minute, unsure of whether he wanted this to continue, but the irresistible Antivan in his ear and Hawke’s tender crooning relaxed him again in no time, until he found himself thrusting in her soft depths, and a hard, hot shaft slowly sliding in his ass. Zevran had taken his time to prepare him, first with his fingers, then -shockingly- with his tongue but still the pain was searing, the sensation alien and uncomfortable; the pleasure...the pleasure was blissful, as the elf found that perfect spot inside him and rocked against it.  They all rocked languidly together in the heat of a late Antivan morning, Fenris moaning loudly enough for the whole household to hear him and Zevran roaring his pleasure to the ceiling.

They held on to each other tightly after their orgasms nearly blew the roof in their intensity, sweaty and covered in sticky fluids, but incredibly content.

As Zevran slumbered, spooned against Fenris’ back, Hawke nestled against his chest, he felt belonging like he hadn’t felt for years, and sent a little thank you to whatever god had allowed these two perfect lovers to come onto his life.

He felt blessed they had allowed him into their bed, and luxuriated into the familiarity and comfort he had been craving ever since he had left Ferelden and the side of his Warden.

Little did he know, the Warden was already on his way towards Antiva.

Another elf for Hawke to collect.


	8. Anders, F!Hawke and Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Isabela are an established pair in this, and Hawke has a love/hate relationship with Anders- she adores the man, respects him and admires him, but he drives her crazy. Plus, despite being committed to Isabela, she can’t stop lusting after the man...Isabela suggests that they find other ways to...handle him, fully believing that the two of them together can turn Anders to their puppy-eyed boy-toy.
> 
> Surprise, surprise...Anders is a beast in bed, and much, much more than both of them can handle.
> 
> First foray into F/F. Be gentle with the critique.
> 
> Timeline: before the end of Act II
> 
> Kinks: threesome (m/f/f) femslash, oral (oodles of it), anal, fingering (lots of it) and the electricity trick. Oh, my.

 “That infuriating man!”

Hawke slammed the door behind her and pounded her fist against the flimsy wood of the wall of Anders’ clinic. The wood creaked and groaned, and an irritated voice rose from inside, filled with sarcasm.

“Anything you break, Hawke, you pay for.”

Hawke gave the man behind the wall the finger, muttering darkly.

A throaty chuckle filled the stagnant Darktown air. “Sweet thing,” two toned arms wrapped around Hawke’s waist and a warm breath caressed the nape of her neck, making her sigh and shiver. “What has that bad, _bad_ apostate done again to make your lovely hackles rise?”

Hawke tensed with renewed anger. “The damned mage is as stubborn as a mule and twice as stupid,” she said, pulling away.  She huffed a frustrated breath. “He wants to organize a revolt in the Gallows...A REVOLT IN THE GALLOWS! He’s delusional if he thinks I will allow it, let alone help!”

Isabela leaned in to kiss that pouty mouth. “I thought we were against mage imprisonment?”

“We are!” Hawke stomped her foot. “We _are_! Wholeheartedly! But what _he_ suggests is a harebrained plan- one that will get half the mages in the Gallows killed, and the other half tranquilled… Has he _forgotten_ that my sister’s trapped in there?!”

The door was wrenched open and Anders stood in the opening, his arms crossed over his chest, fuming.

“Shout a bit louder,” he spat though clenched teeth, “I don’t think Meredith heard you that well!”

Hawke jabbed a finger in his chest. “Back off, Anders!” she growled. “Now, before I torch your balls off!”

Anders raised a hand and sparks of electricity played around his fingers. “Just you try,” he dared. “I’ll give your hair a permanent curl.”

Isabela stepped right in front of them. “Children,” she crooned to them, “behave, or you both get a spanking.”

Anders scowled. “She deserves one,” he answered. “I’m half-tempted to turn her over my knee myself.”

Isabela’s face split into a lewd smile. “Now you’re just giving me ideas,” she purred, then lightly smacked the petite mage’s luscious ass. Hawke yelped a surprised and highly embarrassed “Isabela! Not in public!”

Isabela, standing just inches from Anders, was shrewd enough to notice the ways his eyes dilated, and the way his breath lodged in his throat for just an instant before he schooled his expression back into that of disinterest.

“Well, she wouldn’t enjoy a spanking from _me_ ,” he said, “that’s for sure.”

Hawke spattered. “Why don’t you just try, Anders?” she hissed. “You’ll draw back a bloody stub, and it won’t be _just_ your hand that’s missing, I can guarantee that.”

Anders’ eyes flashed again, heat and want written in them, before he looked away. “Get her out of here, Isabela,” he addressed the rogue without even looking at her, “before I really _do_ bend her over my knee.”

He turned and walked back into his clinic with those words, slamming the door shut behind him leaving behind a cursing, fuming Hawke and an Isabela deep in thought.

She’d just had an idea. Maybe yelling insults and cursing wasn’t the best way to...handle Anders. Maybe they could have him eating out of their hands a different way...She pondered it for a while, a smile slowly forming, one that Hawke noticed and immediately tensed up at. It was the smile of a cat that had just figured out how to go about eating the canary she had been craving, and one thing was for certain: that look spelled trouble.

* * *

“You must be shitting me!” Hawke set her tankard back on the table, then looked at Isabela as if she had just grown a second head. “You can’t possibly be serious, Isa!”

The busty pirate smiled that saucy smile again, the one that was equal parts suggestion and equal parts danger personified. “Oh, but I am, sweetie pie,” she drawled. “I am dead serious. If you want Anders eating out of your hand, give him a taste. He’ll be yours. A woman’s cunt can drag a ship, baby, it can move armies.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Isabela. Stop thinking with your clit and starting using your wit. What makes you think Anders will agree? He hates my guts.”

Isabela leaned back into her chair. “I do notice a distinct absence of any kind of argument that says _you_ hate _his_ guts, though.” She waved her hand around. “Enlighten me.”

Hawke blushed a furious red . “You know I hate his guts, too.”

“Sell it to someone who’s buying it, sweetie,” Isabela laughed. “I know you’ve been hot on the guy forever.”

Hawke reddened some more-if that was possible- and averted her eyes. “I don’t like men,” she raised her chin stubbornly. “They’re all pigs- a few grunts and shoves and they’re done. Who needs that? And then they turn around and call you frigid, tell you it was your fault for just laying there like a wooden doll.”

Isabela’s eyes softened; when she had first met Hawke, the mage had been incredibly shy and completely despairing of her allure. She had actually believed she was “frigid”, and that it was her fault that she didn't enjoy sex, that she was somehow lacking. It had taken Isabela a lot of time to convince her that wasn’t true, and to have the breathtaking redhead take a chance on her. But once she had...Isabela had found out that Hawke was naturally sensuous, just not in her own blunt, bawdy manner. She was understated and demure, but once she felt secure in her own sexuality- Maker. Hawke was a firecracker, proving every stereotype about the fieriness of gingers to be an understatement. A dream come true in bed, she was willing to experiment, eager to learn, responsive and thoughtful: the perfect lover. And Isabela _wanted_ to keep her, but the fact remained that she wasn’t the type to settle down-and Hawke knew that.

But Hawke still hadn't changed her opinion on men. She still considered they were not worth the time of day and that being with one would be –at best- a failed experiment. Isabela knew that just like her, Hawke wasn't exclusively gay- she liked men. Men excited her, but she was so mistrustful of them. It broke Isabela’s heart, because she _knew_ Hawke had been smitten with Anders the minute she had seen him. She could still remember her shy, blubbering attempts to flirt with the man, and how disheartened she had become when Anders had pushed her away. But what the mage _wouldn’t_ have, she could, and she was selfish enough to want to keep Hawke to herself. The tension between the two mages, though, had made things difficult lately, and caused Hawke unhappiness; the pirate queen found herself annoyed at that- much to her own surprise. And she had reasons of her own why she wanted to see Anders and Hawke get along better-reasons that Hawke absolutely could not learn.

She masked the tumult of conflicting emotions - _she wanted to keep Hawke, but couldn’t; she didn't want to share her, but had to_ \- and covered it up with a smile and a saucy wink..  

“I told you, Honey, men are good for one thing only but women are good for six. Anders might be different, though- that electricity thing for one- that was nice.”

“Six things?” Hawke sent her one of her own rare suggestive smiles. “You’ve only showed me five.”

“The sixth one,” Isabela trailed a hand down Hawke’s creamy throat, her eyes hooding at the way the other woman leaned into the touch and fought to control a little moan, “is that they share nicely.”

Hawke tried her best to gather her splintering thoughts. Maker, but that hand was so talented. Maker, but that woman was talented—even this seemingly innocuous touch of fingers to throat sent heat pooling to her centre. “What makes you think he’ll even agree? He can’t stand the sight of me!”

Isabela chuckled a little at that, she couldn’t help it. “Oh, sweet thing,” she purred, just before leaning in to kiss the little mage. “You’re so wrong it’s not even funny.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow then huffed and once again rolled her eyes, totally unconvinced. “Honestly Isa, are you blind? The man would only touch me to wring my neck. He can’t stand my guts. Fenris is more accepting of me- and that’s a fucking miracle, considering he hates mages of all shapes and sizes.”

The pirate sighed dramatically. “It’s _you_ that’s blind as a bat, sweetie. I’ve seen the way Anders looks at you, the way both of them look at you. Blight take me, I even caught _Sebastian_ staring once or twice. That ass of yours, baby, swinging as you walk...why do you think we all walk behind you?”

For the hundredth time that night, Hawke rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right...” she drawled sarcastically.

Isabela dragged the elfin mage out if her chair and onto her lap, ignoring her protests that people could see them, then leaned in to softly peck a kiss on her pouty lips, knowing full well that there was no convincing Hawke of how sexy she was. The girl truly thought that she was plain and unattractive – _plain_ , for the sake of all that was holy! Couldn’t she see herself? Couldn’t she see how voluptuous, how curvy her petite frame was? Couldn’t she see how the sight of those pert, full breasts under her robes made men drool? Couldn’t she hear the sighs as she went by, those full, round hips swaying gracefully? Didn't she know how cute, how utterly adorable her freckled, heart-shaped face was under that glorious mop of dark red head, how her creamy skin contrasted perfectly with her pink, kissable lips?

Men swooned as she passed, and women shot her dagger-sharp looks of jealousy. Anders gasped whenever she bent over to tighten her shoelaces, and Fenris’ eyes darkened whenever she stretched, trailing a ravenous gaze over her lithe body. Isabela hadn’t been lying: even Sebastian adjusted the fit of his breeches once or twice when slashes through Hawke’s clothes showed a little more skin. Even Isabela, with all her varied experience, was putty in the girl’s hands- and she thought she was unattractive!

Well, if that’s the way she truly felt, then it was up to Isabela to show her otherwise.

 She leaned in to kiss the mage again, and the kiss grew heated and passionate, as if all of its own. It had always been like that between them, ever since their first kiss- the taste, the smell, the incredible softness of those shy, hesitant, bowlike lips. Isabela hadn't been able to resist her; one kiss, and she had been addicted.

Her tongue snuck into the incredibly wet warmth that was her little mage’s mouth, and two small, dainty hands tightened on her shoulders as Hawke moaned and turned into living flame in her arms.  She plundered that soft mouth, eliciting gasps and moans, little breathless sighs from Hawke, until the need for air made them pull away. Hawke looked at her with a slightly dazed, fogged look in her emerald green eyes, then looked around and blushed. The whole tavern had fallen silent, men holding their breaths as they watched, enthralled by the show. Isabela’s smile widened on her face, growing smug, as she noticed that some hands had disappeared under the tables, while Corff kept polishing the same spot on the counter over and over again.

“Besides,” she went on with her previous  argument, gesturing around her, “what hot-blooded male could resist _this_?” she winked at Hawke, who was now redder that a ripe tomato, and trying to find a graceful way to clamber off Isabela’s lap.

“Plenty,” she hissed at Isabela, mortified beyond belief as she noticed that some of the patrons were moving their hands rather jerkily under the tables. “Anders will laugh his ass off. Just last week he said that it is disgusting, the way we sometimes look at each other.”

 Isabela pulled her in for another long, drugging kiss, moans and sighs of approval going around the tavern. “Trust me, Hawke,” she murmured seductively in Hawke’s mouth, “He’ll come in his smalls just thinking about it.”

Hawke was not convinced, but she tentatively gave her permission for Isabela to broach the subject with Anders, then scampered off to hide in her mansion, terrified of Anders saying no and humiliating her- and of him saying yes, as well.

Isabela just laughed, then sent a messenger to fetch Anders, with the cryptic message that she wanted to talk to him about something that she was sure he would be interested in. She then sat back in her chair, drinking her whiskey slowly, and waited.

* * *

“What??” Anders spat his drink out, then started coughing. “You can’t be serious!”

Isabela smiled over the rim of her glass- a dangerous, sultry smile. “I am dead serious, sweet thing,” she drawled, eyeing Anders with a look like that of a predator closing in on its prey.

Anders’ eyes were comically large on his blushing face. “You want...me...to join you...and Hawke...?”

Isabela moved closer to him on the bench, enjoying the wide-eyed, panicky look on Anders’ face, and noting with smug satisfaction that his hands weren’t exactly steady around his mug. She pressed herself against him, her full breasts almost flattening against his chest. Underneath his robes, Anders’ heart was galloping in his ribcage, betraying his excitement, and the sultry smile on her face widened.

Oh, Anders was _definitely_ interested.

“Yes, Anders,” she drawled, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You, Hawke, and me. One night,” she chuckled in his ear and rejoiced in the way his whole body shivered. “Or more, if you’re good.”

“I would just watch, though, right?” Sweat had started pearling on Anders’ brow. “It’s that little fool’s idea of torture, right? I’d be watching but not be allowed to touch.”

Isabela’s tongue snuck out to lick around the rim of his ear, making him gasp and then shiver. “Watch, touch, lick, kiss...fuck. Whatever you want Anders.”

Another shudder rocked the mage’s frame. “Just you, then?” he croaked. “No way she’s letting me touch _her_.”

She chuckled in his ear. “She’ll let you do anything you want to her, Anders.”

The mage huffed and then pulled back. “Yeah, right,” he drawled sarcastically. “This must be a prank. You’ll both have a good laugh at my expense, telling everyone how you had me drooling only to tell me it was all a joke. Or make me wear something humiliating and then toss me out, like high heels and a corset.”

Isabela trailed a finger down his bicep, still eyeing him like candy. “It’s not a joke Anders,” she murmured in her most husky, seductive drawl. “You can do whatever you want, for one night; if corsets and high-heels are your thing, that goes too.”

“No, I can’t believe she’d be okay with this,” Anders spat through clenched teeth. “She hates the air I breathe. If this is a joke, Isabela, it’s not remotely funny.”

Isabela huffed, then threw her hands in the air. “Do they put something in the water around here,” she huffed, frustrated, “to make people blind? Anders! She wants you, you fool! She has been hot for you forever! And a day!”

Anders looked away, grinding his teeth. “You must take me for an idiot, Isabela. Hawke doesn’t even do men.”

Exasperated, Isabela pulled him by the hand to another, more secluded table, tucked away in a far-away corner.

“If you even breathe a word of what I’m going to tell you, Anders...” the threatened darkly, then proceeded to tell the mage all about Hawke’s previous unfortunate experiences with men, and explained how shy, how reserved and sexually unconfident in herself they had made Hawke. She explained that Hawke had only been with a man twice, and how both times had been incredibly awkward and unfulfilling for her, how her partner had accused her of being frigid afterwards, and how she had associated sex with a man with pain and shame.

She knew she was letting him in on secrets that weren’t hers to give, but she battled the unfamiliar feeling of guilt by rationalising that it was for the best- after all, in the end it got her the result she wanted.

Anders said yes.

* * *

Hawke fidgeted in place, then with got up with a huff to pace in front of the fireplace. Isabela crossed her arms in front of her chest, frustrated. Hawke was nervous, skittish like a frightened filly, in exactly the opposite mood that was needed to get Anders seduced and eating out of the palm of her hand. Isabela knew that her own seduction techniques and female allure were unparalleled, but it wasn’t her that Anders wanted, not really. She was just the side-dish here, not the main course, she knew that. Hawke would only have to breathe on him and Anders would come, she knew that, but this Hawke, pacing nervously in front of the fireplace and chewing her nail was more likely to bolt the minute Anders walked through the door than do what was necessary to reduce the mage to a drooling, slobbering mess.

The silly girl had managed to convince herself that Anders wasn’t going to show, or that he would show up just to ridicule her. She got increasingly nervous and anxious by the minute, worrying her lip between her teeth, clenching and unclenching her hands and muttering that she should never had allowed Isabela to talk her into this.

It was time for Isabela to apply her unique, particular form of tension relief.

She got up and sauntered towards the nervous mage, discarding her shoulder guards and unbuckling her dagger belt as she went, tossing the pieces carelessly to the floor.

Hawke cast a surreptitious look her way, then noted the seductive, lusty expression on the rogue’s face and –as always- rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Bella,” she huffed. “Now? Can’t you get your mind out of the gutter for two seconds?

Isabela’s sultry smile widened. She wrapped her arms around Hawke, who was stiff and unresponsive. Determined not to be deterred, she leaned in to run a wickedly talented tongue along the pale column of Hawke’s neck. She nipped the elegant lobe of the mage’s ear playfully when she reached it, then whispered seductively, blowing a warm breath of air in her ear, just to watch her squirm.

“Honey, we’re expecting a man to come join us- how can I possibly take my mind out of the gutter? We’ll be wallowing in it in a while.”

“ _If_ he comes,” Hawke murmured, leaning her neck back to allow the rogue more access, unable to prevent the languid, submissive wave of pleasure that relaxed her muscles and started turning her into a warm pile of goo in the talented pirate’s arms. “And _if_ he doesn’t call us names and laugh at us. Oh, how did I let you talk me into this? You have the worst ideas ever, I swear.”

Isabela laughed huskily, laying soft kisses on along Hawke’s jawline, while her hands moved over the soft curves, massaging the tension away.

“Worst ideas?” she challenged Hawke. “When you have that hunky mage between your legs, hammering you like a bent nail, we’ll see who has the ‘worst ideas ever’.”

Hawke dropped her head even further back, offering her lover unrestrained access to her throat, which Isabela eagerly accepted, gliding her hot mouth down to the mage’s pulse point and suckling hard; Hawke moaned, and her hands climbed up to tangle in Isabela’s hair, keeping her in place, while her hips started making those soft grinding moves that the pirate so loved.

“I have my reservations about that,” she struggled to continue her protests through the pleasure that was beginning to fog her thoughts. “In my experience, there’s no pleasure to be found with a man ‘hammering’ you, as you so eloquently put. Just pain,” she gasped as Isabela’s fingers pinched a furled nipple, “and discomfort. It’s a good thing the whole ordeal only lasts a few minutes.”

“Anders is Grey Warden,” Isabela mumbled, he noble fingers unbuttoning Hawke’s robe. “Their stamina is the stuff of legends.”

“They still have a cock,” Hawke moaned, as her robe fell to her waist, and Isabela’s nimble fingers divested her off her breastband, then cupped her rosy, freckled breasts. “And it hurts like hell when they shove it in you.”

Isabela smiled before she leaned in to rub her tongue across the mage’s puckered nipple, her other hand massaging a supple, full breast. Hawke arched her back, gasping, then purred in need, moisture already pooling between her legs. “Sweet thing,” Isabela drawled, “I’ve told you before: there’s a difference between a man that knows what he’s doing and that fumbling idiot back in Lothering. Anders, now...he’s a man, sweetheart, and I bet my next fuck he knows exactly what to do with that dick of his to make you scream in pleasure. Plus, that electricity trick of his...pure win.”

She rose to capture Hawke’s lips with hers again, then the sweet curve of the mage’s ear captivated her attention again. Dipping her hand in the smaller woman’s underclothes to find her already drenched, she purred in her ear, expertly rubbing her where she needed it the most. “Imagine how full he’ll make you feel, Hawke,” she moaned in her ear. “ _Bursting_ full, throbbing inside you.” Hawke moaned at the darkly erotic words, her legs trembling, and more moisture pooled out of her as she rocked against Isabela’s fingers, mewling. “He’ll take you slow and easy, and I’ll watch as his cock slides in and out of this sweet pussy; maybe I’ll even lick you as he fucks you.”

“Oh, Maker...” Hawke moaned, the images unfurling behind her closed eyelids.

“I bet he’d love to fuck you from behind as I eat you, Hawke,” Isabela continued. “I’d get a front seat view of that little pink pussy of your swallowing his cock. Will you help me suck him? I bet he’s thick, and long, and can keep it up for hours.”

More moisture soaked Isabela’s fingers, and Hawke moaned as she stretched up to kiss her, her lithe tongue suddenly demanding and ravenous, the mage having overcome the nervousness that had plagued her.

“Bed,” the mage moaned. “My legs are trembling.”

Isabela chuckled, but removed her hand nonetheless, because she was trembling too, just from the lust that the mage’s unrestrained response always caused in her.  She helped Hawke step out of her robes completely, then removed her own top and smallclothes, following her mage as she lay back on the bed. Hawke’s legs parted, invitingly spreading open and her arms outstretched for her. She sank into Hawke’s embrace, feeling that little jolt of confusion that always accompanied the feeling of belonging that spread through her every time she was in Hawke’s arms. She was Isabela, Pirate Queen of the open seas, and she belonged to no one, she loved nothing but the High Seas, relished nothing other than the wind in her hair and the sea foam spraying her face; but here, with Hawke, she felt this absurd little sensation of belonging, of yearning, of being free while tied down, and she both craved and feared it. She felt a pang go through her heart, though she’d long ago hardened herself against such weakness; when the mess with the artifact came out, Hawke would hate her for lying anyway, she would lose her anyway, so she’d best not get overly attached.

She kissed Hawke, a sweet, gentle kiss, that apologised for the pain she was going to cause her in the end; she poured all the heat and want she felt for the kind-hearted mage in that kiss, all the tender feelings she never allowed herself to either feel or show, all the pain she refused to acknowledge at the thought of losing her one day. The kiss became blisteringly hot, demanding, but soothing and cajoling at the same time, enflaming and comforting all at once.

Hawke mewled softly into Isabela’s mouth, relishing her dark, exotic taste, the feeling of her soft curves against hers. There was something wickedly sinful about being with another woman like this; softness to softness, curves meshing together, femininity not battling against unyielding hardness, but rather embracing and rejoicing in a joining with a body that was as familiar as hers. She was attracted to men, but her experience had taught her that men only took, only demanded submission; this was mating with an equal, with someone that gave as well as received; there was no battle for dominance here, no demands, no pressure to be anything more than what she was: a woman, enjoying another woman’s touch, as familiar to her as her own body.

She arched underneath the pirate, sighing contentedly, when her soft breasts meshed with her lover’s. Pale skin on dark, rosy nipples rubbing against dusky, dark ones; she writhed against the Rivaini, eliciting the first sultry moan from her pirate queen. Isabela’s talented fingers slid to between her legs, expertly sliding through the thick cream that had escaped Hawke to strum her little nub making her moan brokenly and thrash on the bed. Isabela’s fingers were magic; Hawke had had her first ever orgasm under those talented fingers, that very first night they had slept together, shockingly easily- not even she herself had ever been able to bring herself to completion so easily.

The busty pirate slid lower, abandoning Hawke’s pouty, kiss-swollen mouth to suckle a rosy nipple, her other hand pinching and rolling the mage’s other nipple until it stood out proudly, begging for attention. She ran her mouth down Hawke’s trembling stomach, then even lower, over the finely trimmed fiery red bush of hair decorating her sex. Hawke’s breath caught with anticipation; Isabela’s hands might be magic, but her mouth was nothing short of bliss. She keened her need when the pirate slid her tongue through her slit, one hand opening her up. A breathless cry of the rogue’s name escaped her as Isabela focused all her attention on her centre, licking, rubbing, nibbling her with gusto, purring at her taste and the heady smell of her arousal.

Hawke’s legs fell open even more widely, one hand flew to her mouth to stifle her breathless cries as her lover feasted on her most secret, most feminine flesh, one of her hands massaging a supple breast and the other holding on to her hip.

That was the sight that Anders walked in to; Hawke, her mouth clamped on her fingers, her head thrown back, gloriously naked on the bed; her breasts were heaving with the force of the pleasure whipping her as Isabela licked and tormented her, knelt between her legs, her glorious, lush ass in the air.

“Oh, Maker!” he moaned, and just stood there, committing the vision to memory; Hawke’s eyes flew open and she blushed- then her eyes hooded, and she gasped. Her mouth flew open and she arched off the bed, her glorious red hair whipping around her as she came, her eyes locked on Anders’ face. He watched her find her pleasure, watched her thrash on the bed, heard her keening, heaving cries of completion.

He nearly came in his smalls, then moaned as Isabela turned to look at him as well, her face wet with Hawke’s juices. His cock leapt to attention in the confides of his smalls so fast that he felt faint; Maker, they weren’t kidding after all, they wanted him here, and as his eyes roamed over that expanse of naked female flesh, he had to clench his fists and bite his lip not to howl with want.

“Anders,” Isabela purred. “Come, join us.”

Anders looked at Hawke, his whisky coloured eyes dark with lust. She licked her lips and then she moaned again as Isabela’s mouth returned to her centre to lick her, gathering the cream that had escaped her.

“Anders...” Hawke moaned, and the mage’s fate was sealed. He closed his eyes for just an instance, praying for control, then slowly undressed and joined them on the bed.

* * *

Hawke was caught between extreme embarrassment and a kinky, perverse joy when she had first opened her eyes to see Anders watching them; the sight of him, so hot, so flustered, his eyes huge with arousal and shock, had pushed her over the precipice into a destructive, mind-shattering orgasm. She eyed him hungrily now as he undressed himself, still blushing furiously at having been caught with her legs spread and Isabela feasting on her. The sight of his slim but toned torso as he removed his robes and then his undershirt made her breath catch, and some of her embarrassment subsided.

She pulled Isabela up for a scorching kiss, and the pirate laughed as she ground her slick centre against her thigh, riding her, mewling with need and out of control with lust; she had been afraid the little mage would bolt once Anders joined them, but she was shooting the tall blond man covert looks, her eyes fogging and dilating with every glimpse of the naked flesh Anders was now revealing. They kissed- long, drugging kisses, hands exploring and petting, bodies undulating against each other, while at the same time taking in the delectable show Anders was putting on for them, undressing without haste, neatly folding his clothes and setting them aside.

He sat on the bed to remove his boots, now naked down to his underclothes, and as if they had agreed on it, they both rose up on the knees and rubbed against his back, making him hiss and drop the boot he was holding. Hawke’s arms snuck around his neck and she flattened her breasts against him, then she leaned in to kiss the baby smooth, pale skin that was usually covered by the collar of his robes. Not to be outdone, Isabela ran her tongue along his shoulder, then nipped gently at the side of his neck. Anders moaned, then leaned his head sideways and bit his lip.

“Andraste’s flaming ass,” he hissed though clenched teeth. “Hold your horses, both of you!”

He hooked his thumbs into his smallclothes and prepared to raise his hips to lower them when Isabela found the perfect chance to pinch his ass, making him yelp. He turned around, pouting, and shot them both a chastising look.

“Easy, ladies,” he scolded. “There’s enough to go around for _both_ of you.”

Isabela and Hawke laughed and exchanged another scorching kiss under Anders’ approving gaze. On their knees across from each other, they rose even higher up so that their bodies could mesh together again, then each slid a hand down to the other’s mound, petting and rubbing and sneaking fingers in, kissing as if their lives depended on it.

“Yes,” Anders hissed, settling higher up on the bed, his back against the headboard and one hand circling his erection. “Yes, like that. Let me watch you.”

Isabela chuckled at the way Hawke rolled her eyes at that, then she whispered in her ear. “I told you, sweet thing,” she drawled. “No hot-blooded man can resist this.”

Hawke snuck a look at Anders and was immediately captivated by the sight of that hot, thick shaft in his palm, jutting proudly from a nest of honey blond curls, the mage’s hand lazily stroking it from base to tip. A little jolt of apprehension went through her. Maker, it was huge, much larger than the only other cock that she had seen and much thicker; she shivered in Isabela’s arms then licked her lips as the pirate also noticed what her eyes had riveted on, and chuckled in her ear.

“Oh, look at that,” Isabela drawled. “If _that_ can’t show a woman a good time, I don’t know what can.”

One drugging kiss later, Hawke’s mind was fogged enough for her to forget the little bite of fear, and she let the pirate drag her down above her, then flip her around, until her dripping core was situated just above the rogue’s mouth. She leaned forward, knowing full well that Anders had an unobstructed view of her ass raised high in the air, and of the pink flesh between her legs, as well as Isabela’s tongue, that snuck out to lick her from her nub up to the little furled opening of her rear.

She buried her head in the pirate’s sex, blushing wildly at the tortured moan that Anders let out, then concentrated on Isabela, forgetting the mage that was watching with riveted eyes as the intoxicating, musky scent of her lover flooded her senses. She felt Isabela tense underneath her at the first swipe of her tongue through the rogue’s slit, then purr around her clit as she suckled it deep in her mouth. Her thighs started trembling, and she retaliated by thoroughly wetting three fingers in her mouth and slipping them inside Isabela’s hot, wet sheath, pumping forcefully; Isabela liked it rough, liked it a little painful, and Hawke had learned how to make her keen and scream, just like she was doing now.

Pleasure raced through her bloodstream as the talented rogue thrust her tongue inside her, holding her folds open with one hand. Fully aware that Anders was watching, she felt the naughtiness of the whole situation enflame her further; Isabela’s tongue fucking her, Anders’ eyes trained on her, his breathy moans echoing in the room, the sound his hand was making as he rubbed his rigid, engorged flesh- they all combined to push her further and further towards a climax that was going to make her howl, that was sure to splinter her bones.

Focused as she was on the pleasure incinerating her brain—and on _not_ letting Isabela out-do her by furiously pumping her fingers inside the rogue’s soaked core while sucking and nibbling her clit—she didn’t feel the bed shift. She jerked in surprise when a large, rough hand petted the sweat-slicked skin of her back. It caressed down her spine, then came around to cup one of her breasts. The air whooshed out of her in a breathless moan.

“Anders,” she gasped against Isabela, then jerked upwards as her climax hit her, her head falling backwards, her mouth opening in a little shocked ‘oh’ of bliss. A hot mouth swallowed down her cry, and she realised with a jolt that his was Anders kissing her, it was his taste flooding her mouth- musky, hot, drugging. She moaned into his mouth, another wave of pleasure washing over her, Isabela eagerly suckling at her core, Anders thrusting his tongue inside her mouth in long, ravenous swipes. One hand came up to cup her face, and she sighed against the sensation, responding to the kiss with abandon, twining her tongue with Anders’, rejoicing in the feeling of two lovers focused on her.

Anders used the hand on her chin to cup her head, then push her down again, urging her to focus on Isabela underneath her, watching enthralled as her fingers resumed their thrusting inside Isabela’s sex, her little pink tongue coming out to lick along the pirate’s folds, gathering in her juices.

“Maker’s breath,” he groaned. “You both look so hot.”

He looked back, to where Isabela’s hands where now pulling the pert cheeks of Hawke’s ass apart, then his hands roamed over the mage’s body to pet her between her legs, where Isabela’s tongue was delving inside her. One finger brushed against the furled opening of Hawke’s ass, and the little mage jerked under his touch, moaning into Isabela’s flesh.

The pirate came with a long, drawn-out groan, her hands tightening on Hawke’s hips as her body arched off the bed. She drew her head away, struggling for breath, to come face to face with Anders’ staff, the mushroom-shaped head dark and glistening with arousal just inches from her face. Unable to resist, she snuck her tongue out to lick him from root to tip. He moaned and supported himself with one hand on the headboard, inching closer so that Isabela could fully take him in her mouth.

Surprised by Anders’ moan, and feeling curious as to why Isabela’s attention had abruptly stopped, Hawke turned her head over her shoulder to see Anders with his head thrown back, thrusting slowly into Isabela’s mouth, her lips closed around his length. Her own mouth suddenly salivating at the sight, she felt the last races of apprehension evaporate and she rose, turning to join her pirate lover. At the feeling of a second mouth licking along his length, Anders’ eyes flew open and he hissed as he saw Hawke’s lithe pink tongue sneaking in to lick him at Isabela’s downstroke. 

He nearly came at the sight, and had to fist the bed sheets to reign in the imperative need to come; pleasure streamed down his spine, hot waves of almost electrifying rapture. He pulled out of Isabela’s mouth and fell back against the headboard, watching in thrall as both women rose on their knees and stalked towards him, like cats after their favourite cream.

The two women exchanged small lewd smirks before turning to him, making his breath hitch with the hungry expression that darkened their faces before they bent to him. Two mouths tormented him, took him in deep inside in turn, licked and suckled and kissed his almost painfully swollen length. He closed his eyes against the pleasure of their touch, retaliating with fleeting, soft caresses all over their bodies- their breasts, the softness of their necks, their glorious hair.

One hot tongue stroked up- another stroked down. Two pairs of soft hands teased and cajoled, palmed the tightened sack under his almost painfully swollen length. Strong, bold sucking, paired with feather-light kisses and teasing licks; Maker, it was agony, it was a dream come true. His heartbeat roared in his ears, his whole body burning, vibrating with lust.

When he finally came, groaning, shuddering like a stallion, they both lapped up his seed, then kissed fervently: open mouthed, wet kisses, sharing his taste between them. The sight was enough to make his flagging erection jump up to attention again, and he smiled wolfishly at the shocked look they gave him.

With a growl, he tackled them both, forcing them back on their backs, then stood on his knees above them, winking naughtily at them.

“Eenie minie miny moe,” he said, pointing from one to the other, making them both chuckle; the count stopped on Isabela, and she shivered a bit at the narrow-eyed, ravenous look that Anders shot her, before slapping her legs open and pulling her towards him, her hips cradled on his lap, his cock rubbing on the soft, drenched flesh between her legs. He smiled at Hawke, then slid inside the Pirate Queen, groaning at the heat and wetness, forcing the rogue to take all of his impressive length in one long, powerful thrust.

“You’re next,” he told Hawke, then lost his breath on a moan, as Isabela arched up to take him in more completely.

Hawke shivered in lust, but a little bit of apprehension returned; she suddenly had the feeling they had bit more than they could chew. She chewed her lip thoughtfully before the sight of Isabela mewling and thrashing underneath Anders’ forceful, almost brutal thrusts, captivated her attention again.

Nah, they were going to be alright; there were two of them against one man, right?

_Right?_

* * *

Hawke’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out as Anders crawled to her. Isabela was beyond helping her, panting on the bed, trying to gather her wits after the explosive orgasm Anders had just given her, still moaning, her body still trembling wildly.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Anders crooned to her, seeing fear in her eyes. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Hawke eyed his cock as if it was going to bite her. “That thing is huge.”

“Don’t stroke his ego,” Isabela muttered, still trying to draw in enough breath to stop her heart from galloping, “he’ll be insufferable. Anders,” she hissed, turning to the mage. “Take it easy.” She rose up on her knees to kiss the blond mage, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Let me get her ready for you.”

Anders nodded, then sat on his haunches as Isabela embraced Hawke, crooning in her ear, running her hands all over the petite little mage. Hawke soon relaxed, and started moaning and sighing under Isabela’s touch, under the pleasure of her hot mouth, the expert way the rogue stroked her, the erotic mumblings in her ear.

“Look at him,” Isabela nodded towards Anders, one hand sliding down to pet Hawke between her legs. “He’s so hot for you. He wants you so much.”

Hawke’s eyes fixed on Anders, while her whole body tensed and arched off the bed when two slender fingers slipped inside her, stretching her intimately. “He’s _so_ good,” Isabela continued. “You’re going to love how his cock feels inside, Hawke, it’s so big, and thick, and he’s so hot. He’ll take you slow and easy, baby, and fuck you like you want him to: deep, tender, filling you up.”

Hawke moaned, and emboldened by her response, Anders moved closer and snuck his hand down to her centre as well, stroking through her slickness until he came to her little nub. He let one, tiny spark of electricity fly, watching in glee as her eyes widened and then closed, a long, tortured moan escaping her. Isabela drew her fingers back, letting Anders touch her alone, and focused on the red-haired mage’s breasts, one hand rubbing the pert flesh and the other cupping her face, drawing her in for a series of hot, languid kisses. She knew when Anders let another little jolt rock her, because Hawke arched and she sighed in her mouth, her lips trembling. Soon the mage had her mewling, twisting the bed covers in her fist, and begging him for _more_.

The pirate queen drew completely away as Anders moved over Hawke, then bit her lip as he leaned over her to kiss her. That soft, tender kiss, that breathy sigh that escaped Hawke-it sent shivers of jealousy and arousal through the pirate’s soul.  She’d wanted this: wanted to watch Hawke finally find pleasure with a man, wanted to watch her writhe with abandon as he fucked her. But this, she realized as Anders carefully, tenderly joined his body to hers, all while holding her gaze captive… _this_ didn’t seem like fucking.

Hawke raised her hand to cup Anders’ face, staring into his eyes with an awed, shocked expression as that thick cock slipped inside her inch by inch; there was no pain, no uncomfortable, careless shoving. The blond mage gazed at her with a soft, adoring expression as he eased inside her, letting her tight sheath become accustomed to his length before feeding it another inch. He held himself still, letting Hawke become comfortable before -inexorably, relentlessly- pushing a little further inside her, one hand underneath her, supporting her head, the other supporting his weight. He moaned her name, still gazing into her eyes, and she moaned his back- suddenly, she arched upwards and they both gasped as he slid inside her to the root. Shocked silence reigned for a few seconds, before Hawke arched again and her head thrashed on the pillow.

“Oh, Maker!” Anders threw his head back, then bent to kiss Hawke, making her gasp again. “Oh, baby. You’re so good. So hot. So tight. Maker...I have to move! Hawke! Can I move?”

“Yes,” she hissed, feeling him throb deep inside her, feeling her feminine core stretched beyond imagining- but the feeling was right, blissfully _right_ , like he belonged where he was, like her body had finally found the piece it was missing to be complete.

Isabela didn't know what to feel as she watched Anders slowly, carefully, almost reverently thrust inside Hawke. The sight was hot – sexy as hell- but she could also feel a small pang of pain. This definitely wasn’t fucking, this was not a casual romp she was witnessing. They were making love, Hawke moaning his name in little breathless whimpers, Anders’ head buried in her neck, his whole body trembling wildly as he withdrew only to slide back inside her, reaching her very end at each stroke.

She should be feeling victorious. This had been her plan from the very first, her little hidden, ulterior motive – to get Hawke and Anders together, so that her little firecracker of a mage wouldn’t be left all alone after Isabela disappeared with the relic.  She should be feeling vindicated- despite Hawke’s whole-hearted acceptance of her, she’d always known that she had only won a small part of the red-haired mage’s heart. It was all too clear now that the other part belonged to the blond mage that was now joining his flesh to hers, taking Hawke in a completely different way than he had taken Isabela herself.

Anders had fucked her- but he was making love to Hawke.

He was taking her as though enthralled, showing no sign of ever wanting to leave her soft, welcoming depths. He was whispering in her ear, some softly murmured praise or love word, Isabela couldn’t hear, but it made Hawke purr and twine her arms ever tighter around his neck. The mage’s legs were wrapped around Anders’ slim hips, holding on to him like a limpet, their bodies meshed together.

Isabela watched, both aching inside and rejoicing, one hand stroking herself idly between her legs as her dark eyes fixed on their undulating bodies. She wanted to look away, she really did- what they were doing seemed to be something intimate, something that should have been kept private- but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes when Hawke cried out underneath Anders, her body thrashing in bliss. Immediately after her, the blond mage also tensed, his back arching upwards as his body jerked, his hips crashing into her as he emptied his seed inside Isabela’s little mage, her little firecracker. She heard his ragged moans, the breathless, awe-filled scream that escaped Hawke as his climax ushered her into another one of her own, even stronger this time, her body clenching around his shaft, milking him of every drop of his seed –and she ached.

Isabela had just taken the first step towards giving Hawke to someone else. Their time together would be counted in days from now on- Isabela had a solid lead on the relic this time, and once she had it in her grasp she would leave. Affection be damned, she would _not_ be tied down, she would leave Hawke. She just couldn’t bear leaving her alone… not without someone in place to pick up the pieces. Ander would take care of her, comfort her, stand by her; despite their differences and their constant bickering, there was something stronger than simple affection between them, something volatile and explosive.

Isabela would leave Hawke to Anders. It was decided. Pouting about it served no purpose, even if her heart did feel oddly strained.

She opened her eyes to see Hawke staring at her, and some little flash of understanding lit up the mage’s eyes- then she smiled, a sad but sweet grin, and Isabela realised: Hawke knew.

She knew, and she understood.

And with that, her pensive, melancholy mood evaporated under the determination to make the most of what time they had left together. Maybe it was selfish, but Isabela had never claimed not to be selfish. Maybe it was cruel- but Isabela knew when she had to be cruel to be kind.

She pulled Hawke into her arms, and mage came eagerly, willingly leaving Anders’ embrace to kiss Isabela with a desperation that only fed their want, made it flare higher like flames that someone had thrown oil on. They kissed like that for what seemed like ages, Hawke sprawled over Isabela, Anders watching, his eyes slowly darkening with renewed desire.

“I told you,” Isabela drawled, cupping Hawke’s ass, then sliding her hand down between her folds, drenched with her moisture and Anders’ seed. The rogue brought her hand to her mouth next, languidly licking her fingers, cleaning Hawke and Anders’ combined juices from her skin. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Hawke’s tongue snack out to lick along Isabela’s fingers as well, a smug smile spreading on her face as Anders groaned at the sight.

“He was perfect,” she purred. “You were right.”

“You two are talking as if we’re done,” a hoarse, lust-filled voice interrupted them. “We’re far from done, trust me.”

They both turned to look at Anders, surprised expressions turning to shocked ones as soon as they saw him slowing stroking another impressive erection up and down, his eyes dark and hooded with lust.

“Shiiit...” Isabela drawled.

“Grey Warden,” Anders shrugged, then beckoned them to him with a crooked finger.

Hawke gulped and looked at Isabela; her body was still tingling from her recent orgasm, and she wasn’t sure her over-sensitised centre could take another assault like the one that had just shattered her. The pirate queen had an enthralled look on her face, and licked her lips slowly.

“How long can you keep this up?” she asked Anders, and he chuckled in answer.

“As long as you feed me something at some point, all night,” he replied, his thumb circling the slit at the top of his swollen, rigid staff, a smug smile on his face. “Fucking a Grey Warden is an endurance event.”

Isabela turned to Hawke. “Go make him a sandwich,” she just said.

* * *

Hawke hurried back with a tray carrying a huge sandwich, freshly squeezed juice and a few sweets and biscuits that she had managed to find in the kitchen.  She smiled to herself at the thought that Anders had certainly earned it, when she heard a cry from inside the room.

She stood in front of the door, perplexed; it wasn’t a cry of pleasure, per se, but neither was it a cry of pain. It was a mixture of the two, something between an agonised gasp and one of Isabela’s lusty exclamations. She put the tray on the floor to open the door and heard another moan, along with a groan and a plea to Anders to ‘do it, already’.

She opened the door and was immediately rooted to the spot, eyes wide as dinner plates on her shocked face. There on the huge bed, Isabela had her luscious ass up in the air, moaning and twisting the bedcovers with a white-knuckled grip, biting the pillow between her teeth as Anders slowly sank into her ass. Hawke felt her face flame up; it was the most decadently sinful thing she had ever seen, the most erotically forbidden sexual act she had witnessed. Isabela had only ever used one of her slim fingers on _her_ back there, but she often made allusions to it, telling Hawke that she would enjoy it once she tried it. However, Hawke had been terrified enough of the conventional way with a man to even consider it.

Hesitantly, softly, she approached the bed and removed her robe to sit next to them, her eyes riveted on the spot where Isabela’s ass stretched around the rigid, thick cock that was slipping inside her, inexorably pushing past the desperate resistance of the tight sphincter. Anders’ body was slick with sweat as he arched his spine, his head thrown back and his blond hair shading his eyes. He looked savage, like a big, lusty male animal, trembling with the strain of going slow and not giving in to his urge to slam inside the pirate with all his might. Isabela was shaking, her fists pulling on the bedcovers until they were ready to rip, groaning as she was caught between pain and unimaginable pleasure.

Hawke petted her hair, and Isabela raised shattered, fogged eyes to her face, then her mouth opened in a pained gasp as Anders’ shaft gained another inch inside her forbidden, dark passage.

“Does it hurt?” Hawke’s breath was coming out in pants; she was ashamed to admit it, but the sight was getting her more than hot- it was making her wild, eager to try _anything_. She wanted to be the one Anders’ thick, long cock was sinking in, she wanted to be the one dominated by him in this primal, most basic of ways.

“It hurts so _good_ ,” Isabela gasped, then locked lips with her little mage in a hot, wet kiss, sucking her tongue into her mouth and moaning with wild abandon. Hawke broke the kiss to crawl closer to Anders, then her eyes were once again drawn to the sight of Isabela’s trembling ass swallowing his cock. She pulled the flesh of Isabela’s voluptuous cheeks apart to get a better look, then sighed. “Maker above,” she said, then ran her finger around the rim of Isabela’s ass, stretched wide and full of the mage’s cock. “Give her more.”

The blond mage smirked before drawing out until only the thick, mushroom-shaped head remained in the pirate before pushing back in, giving her an inch more on the downstroke. Isabela moaned, a deep throaty sound, then hissed as Anders gave her a series of short, swallow thrusts, loosening her further.

Anders leaned down to kiss Hawke who was still watching with fascinated eyes;  his movement stopped altogether as he locked lips with Hawke once more, her taste drawing a ragged groan from deep inside his chest. He hissed through his teeth as the red-haired mage slipped a hand between him and Isabela to cup him and squeeze the sensitive globes under his straining cock; it was just how he liked it, firmly but gently, massaging him with her small, tender fingers. He blinked in shock as her other hand petted Isabela’s ass for a second, before raising and landing on the pirate’s ass with a resounding crack.

The rogue keened and pushed back, taking another inch of Anders’ cock, then turned eyes wild with want at them both, shuddering. “Again,” she pleaded and another slap landed on her ass, making her jerk.

“She likes it rough,” Hawke whispered into Anders’ ear.  “A little pain drives her wild. Don’t be afraid,” she slapped the pirate’s ass again, making it turn pink, “she can take it. Fuck her hard.”

Anders locked eyes with Hawke, then his hands clenched on Isabela’s hips and he thrust inside her with one powerful, brutal plunge, sinking all the way to his balls inside her. The rogue screamed into the pillow, then threw her head back, her hair flying around her.

 Hawke sighed and one hand disappeared beneath her legs; she stroked herself as Anders pummelled Isabela’s ass, her hand getting drenched with her own excitement. Anders was still looking at the female mage, a heavy-lidded look of want and lust in his eyes. Hawke leaned in to him, wrapping one arm around him and he just groaned as he pulled out to slam back inside the pirate, Hawke’s tongue licking his ear.

Hawke moved behind him and moulded her body to his, her arms around his waist, twined hands resting on the straining muscles of his abdomen. Her heart galloping against his spine, her pert breasts flattened against his back, her head on his shoulder, she moved with him as he thrust inside her lover, rubbing herself all over him with all the lithe, lissom sexuality of a purring sex kitten. Anders was certain the double assault on his senses would drive him insane with pleasure: Isabela’s snug, hot passage milking his cock as she clenched around him, and Hawke’s breathy moans and fully-bodied caress on his back. Hawke’s hands rose up to pinch and roll his nipples as he hammered inside Isabela, her mouth trailed hot, wet kisses and little licks along his neck and on the highly sensitive skin under his ear. 

Isabela came first, keening her orgasm into the pillows as her body tightened even more around the intruder that was sinking inside her in long, wild thrusts, each one making her feel as if she was being hammered on an anvil; Anders followed, arching his spine into Hawke, his seed shooting fire inside the pirate’s abused channel. The blond mage took only a few seconds to collect his breath before turning around and pushing Hawke on her back. With a screech, she fell backwards, her legs falling open- an invitation Anders was quick to accept. His mouth and fingers unerringly found her centre, shooting sparks of electricity to make her writhe on the bed, his mouth suckling on her clit with strong, bold movements. Though his cock was still spurting tiny amounts of seed, his body still trembling from his recent orgasm, he nevertheless gave Hawke no quarter, no mercy as he thrummed her sensitive bud like a finely tuned lute. She screamed under the assault of his mouth and hands, his fingers that shot arc after arc of electricity through her, making her whole body tense and jerk off the bed.

Two long, elegant fingers found their target inside her, unerringly rubbing against the spot that made waves of intense, nearly frightening pleasure shoot through her, while his mouth suckled her like her nub was a fountain and he a man starved for water. Another long finger entered her ass, pushing past the resistance of her untried hole, and then he lifted his eyes to her, and smiled into her flesh as a tiny lightning spark struck her in all three places together. Hawke gasped, her breath lost in a wave of agonising pleasure; she exploded, imploded, felt her body dissolve. Drawing convulsive breaths, all she was able to do was keen his name before she blacked out, the intensity of her orgasm too much for her body to take.

Vaguely, after what could have been hours or only seconds, she felt a soft, curvy body wrapped around her. Hearing was the next sense to return, and she took in Isabela’s still panting breath and whimpering moans. She cracked one eye open to see Anders cleaning the pirate’s leaking ass with a wet washcloth, then watched him in awe as he used another wet washrag to clean himself up; he was already semi-hard again, and Hawke moaned, closing her eyes tightly. Oh, Maker, she couldn’t take anymore. Her entire body felt bruised and tender, and the skin between her legs felt over-sensitised and raw; aftershocks of pleasure still made her muscles twitch and her heart gallop. She wanted more. Maker, she _wanted_ more, but she wasn’t sure she could take it.

A refreshing wave of healing magic washed over both her and Isabela, and they opened their eyes to look at each other, both amusement and alarm in their eyes.

“Andaste’s flaming butt cheeks,” Hawke whispered as Anders lay on the bed beside them, eyeing them hungrily. “You’ve got more?”

The mage’s lips quirked into a smug smile. “Yeah, yeah, warden stamina, I got it,” Hawke rolled her eyes as he simply pointed down to his cock, already at attention again.

Isabela raised her head from the pillowy flesh of Hawke’s breasts. “Anders,” she purred. “If this thing comes any closer before I sleep for a while, I’m cutting it off with a rusty knife.”

Anders chuckled, then settled onto the downy pillows. “Okay,” he agreed. “I can wait.”

Hawke’s eyes closed in almost relief. Almost. Though her body was still sore and feeling incredibly sated, the thick rod of flesh jutting proudly upwards from the honey blond nest of hair on Anders’ groin was still making her salivate. One taste, and she wanted more.

Isabela’s hand smacked her hard against the arm and she jolted, realising with a blush she had been staring, and maybe drooling a bit. She closed her eyes once again, chastised, and feeling mortified by Anders’ knowing smile.

Still aroused beyond all imagining, awed and surprised by the amount of pleasure she had received, she had to fight to relax. Even Isabela’s soft body cuddling up to her wasn’t enough to make her unwind- in fact, it made things worse, because Hawke could feel every curve and luscious inch of Rivaini flesh flush against her skin. The heady smell of Isabela’s spicy scent, along with Anders’, the smell of sex and desire- it was making her head spin, and tremors race down her spine. She couldn’t sleep. She wanted more.

A hard, toned body snuggled next to her, and Isabela rolled to her side in her sleep, allowing Anders to wrap one arm around them both. Hawke turned to look at him, suddenly feeling intimidated and awkward.

“Sleep, sweetling,” the mage murmured, then used his talented hand to massage some of the tension from her temples.

“Anders...” her voice echoed hesitant and nearly afraid.

“Shhh...” his lips touched against hers in a soothing, relaxing kiss. “Sleep. Rest. Don’t worry about what may come tomorrow. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

 She obediently closed her eyes, deciding he was right, and soon she was asleep, Anders on one side of her, Isabela curled up on the other.

* * *

It was early in the wee hours of the morning when Hawke woke again, to the exquisite feeling of soft hands roaming over her body, petting her and setting her flesh on fire. She cracked her eyes open to see Isabela smirking knowingly at her, while Anders was once again looking on, hunger and desire written in the depths of his amber eyes. Soft lips kissed along her neck and chest, a wet tongue coming out to taste her, and she moaned and dug her hands into the rich mass of Isabela’s curls, leading her mouth to her already painfully erect nipples.

She arched her back when that soft tongue licked over one straining peak, then her eyes met the ones of the blond mage beside her, who leaned in for an intoxicating kiss.

The tongue laving her nipple was driving her mad, shooting arrows of fire down to her groin; her flesh responded by trying to quench that fire with a stream of moisture, making her pink folds glisten. Two hands, one female and slender, the other calloused and rough, competed with each other to  spread her moisture around, to make her mewl. Maker, their fingers were magic together, Isabela’s talented and experienced, Anders’ sparkling with electricity that sent her thrashing on the bed.

Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around her, and she was dragged over Anders, straddling his hips. There was one moment of a little fumbling as the blind mage found his mark, then he was back inside her, filling her to bursting; she could feel the swollen crown of his shaft against the opening of her womb, the engorged veins along his velvety length pulsing inside her. With his hands on her hips, he pulled her up, then let her slide down again. She arched her head back, moaned his name, then lost all connection to reality as she also felt Isabela’s slender finger breach the opening of her ass. Pain and pleasure mixed, creating a storm that threatened her very sanity as one more finger was tentatively added and Anders moved her up his cock only to slam her down again.

Neither of her lovers spoke a word, enthralled with the vision she presented as she writhed on Ander’s cock and against Isabela’s fingers- she looked like living flame, like a goddess of old. Magic sparkled across her skin, flames that didn't burn licked along her body. On and on they tormented her, Anders effortlessly moving her petite body along his cock, and Isabela thrusting her fingers in her tender, untried opening. She collapsed over Anders at some point, willingly surrendering her body to him, to the pistoning of the slim hips underneath her. Isabela stopped for just a moment, then came back with something infinitely larger than fingers; Anders groaned like a whipped man when he snuck a look down the curve of her back to see the pirate coat a string of wooden beads with oil, then move to Hawke’s ass, smirking and winking to Anders.

One by one, the thick wooden beads were inserted, each one greeted with a wince and a pained moan from Hawke, which Anders quickly turned to moans of pleasure with his thrusts and murmured words of praise. When Isabela started pulling the beads out, he timed his thrust with the pop of each bead out of her tight opening, and Hawke didn't know what she was feeling anymore; pain and agonising pleasure, or bliss and pleasurable pain. The two sensations blended, each feeding the other, pushing her forward to the edge of a high, abrupt drop. Totally at their mercy, totally surrendered with a trust that was both humbling and arousing, she let them play her body like a fiddle, let them use her to their hearts’ content.

When she came, Anders followed her, drenching her insides with his scalding, thick cream. She screamed loud enough to rattle the windows; it was a good thing all her servants and her mother were staying at their summer estate outside Kirkwall for a week, because Hawke knew her agonised cry would bring them all rushing in to see who was killing her.

It was pleasure that nearly killed her that night; she was certain a good portion of her brain cells died from the acute wave of bliss that made her lose her connection to her own body for a few seconds. When she came to, draped over a panting, shuddering Anders, with Isabela kissing and petting the slick muscles of her back, she just blinked, totally shattered with what had just happened, with the force and intensity of her release.

Anders kissed her, his breath still sawing in his lungs, and she felt him hardening beneath her.

“Oh, Maker have mercy!” she gasped.

Anders chuckled, and for the rest of the night showed her that the Maker might have mercy, but he certainly had none.

The hours blended together, time losing all meaning in the heated, kinky display of Anders’ stamina that followed. Hawke found herself on his lap, laying against his chest at some point-after he had inexorably but patiently managed to stuff that thick, long staff of his up her stretched ass- moaning piteously in surrender. Isabela was feasting between her legs, her tongue licking a path of pure fire from her painfully hard nub down to the tight point of entry where that hard-as-iron shaft tunnelled inside her, down to the tightened sacks of Anders’ testicles, making them both moan.

Another climax that rocked her down to her toes, another fresh coating of Anders’ seed filling her where she had never been filled before.

He made them clean each other afterwards, looking on as they licked and suckled each other clean, moaning low and deep in his chest; he couldn’t get enough of the sight, he told them, he couldn’t get over how hot they looked, how sexy the sight was.

His murmured, gasping praise, the kinky instructions he gave them were so totally unexpected from the usually soft-spoken mage, so naughty in the darkness of the room, that they made them both go a little wild. Those erotic words urged them on like whips upon their bodies, and hurtled them into climaxes that were beyond what they had ever experienced together before. He didn't give them any time to recover, kissing them both to take in their combined taste with a muted curse and a reverberating groan, before they were both pulled up on their knees, side by side.

For what seemed like hours he pummelled them, one after the other, pushing them to the brink of orgasm before switching between them, his shaft pounding them like a velvet hammer. When his own knees threatened to give up on him, he used his hands on them, shooting spark after spark of electricity into their most sensitive spots. All they could do was hide their heads in the pillows and try to withstand the storm of pleasure that he unleashed on them; there was no resisting. Not that either of them possessed will to resist anyway.

By the end of the night, he had transformed them both into creatures of pure sensation. Only instinct remained, only bliss and one shattering orgasm after the other- each one stronger than the last, until they finally blended together and turned into a continuous flow of gently peaking waves of satisfaction. Anders was a brutal, unrelenting lover, but attentive and giving as well, making sure they were healed when their bodies became too sore, giving them soft praise and gentle kisses along with the violence and ferocity of his lovemaking. He taught them things about sex that even Isabela didn't know about, taught them that pain and pleasure had both a threshold after which they couldn’t be differentiated, and another threshold after that, where even the most tender caress was pain, and the most painful claiming was absolute bliss.

They collapsed on the bed, begging him to stop at some point, and laughing, his own body exhausted and sated, he gave them some time to rest. But he didn't want to stop, scared that he would never get a chance to be with Hawke again, whom he had secretly been crazy about for years. The fear and trepidation in her gaze from earlier that night was now nestled in his heart as well; it had been easy talking about crossing that bridge when they got to it in the middle of the night, but now, as morning rapidly approached, he was frantic to make as many memories with her as he could.

In the morning, he would turn her over to Isabela again, and have to ache to see them together; but for now, she was his, -they were both his-and he took them both one more time, urgency making the coupling with Hawke almost brutal, and the one with Isabela even more so. Perhaps he wanted to punish Isabela for having Hawke in her life when he couldn’t, perhaps it was envy for being the one Hawke loved, but he was relentless with her, making her scream in pain and pleasure, making her beg him to finish her.

And with that, he too was spent. Totally spent, both physically and emotionally, and he succumbed to sleep next to them, holding on to Hawke with desperate tightness, even as he wandered unwillingly in the Fade. When the first rays of light filtered through the curtains, he got up and gathered up his clothes, standing still to absorb the sight and commit it to memory; their nubile bodies, one dark and tanned, the other milky pale, peppered with bruises and love marks, seed still leaking from every orifice- his seed, his marks, his bruises. He couldn’t resist bending down to kiss Hawke’s pearly shoulder, or one last mischievous thought.

Sneaking his hand between their legs, he thrust one finger of each hand in each woman’s sheath, his thumbs up their stretched and reddened asses, and shot sparks of electricity that had them jerking off the bed in surprised gasps of pleasure.

He hid his sadness, then smiled and winked. “Good morning ladies,” he purred. “And with that,” he shot another, stronger spark that made their eyes immediately roll back in their heads with pleasure, “I bid you adieu.”

“Anders...” Hawke moaned, and Isabela shot him a dreamy look.

“We’re free in a couple of days, Anders,” she added, noting how both Isabela’s and Anders’ eyes widened with surprise at that.

Anders pursed his lips, trying not to seem too desperate. “We’ll see about that,” he said, then withdrew and made for the door.

“We have to take care of that matter of the apostates I snuck out of the Gallows last week,” he said, and half-cringed, expecting one of Hawke caustic remarks about the folly of his actions that would send their relationship back to the hated- but familiar- animosity between them. “I have to find a way to get them out of the city.”

“I’ll help!” both woman cried out together, and Anders nearly stumbled in his step. A smile started lightening his face. _Well. That was unexpected._

“Really?” he paused and turned to look at them. “Okay, then. Let’s say tomorrow, at midnight?”

“We’ll be there!”

He gave them one last, incredulous look, then turned and left, fully believing it was post-orgasmic bliss that was making them both- Hawke especially- so cooperative.

Back in the room, Hawke lay there, looking at the door for the longest time before she turned to Isabela.

“’You’ll have him eating out of your hand’,” she mocked, imitating the rogue’s voice. “’He’ll be your little besotted boy toy.’”

Isabela was too tired to talk back- and besides, Hawke was right. That part of her plan had failed. Spectacularly.

Hawke stretched on the bed, blushing as more of Anders’ seed leaked from inside her, then she closed her eyes and moaned. “He’ll be insufferable now.”

“We can still beat him at his game,” Isabela offered. “We’ll be better prepared next time.”

“Beat him my _ass_.”

“Well, that too.” Isabela purred.

They looked at each other, one long look, before they both started giggling. 

The end.

 


End file.
